


Devil in Disguise

by toogay4happy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcoholic John, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety Attacks, Awesome Bobby Singer, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Sam, Blood and Torture, Charlie Ships It, Creepy Lucifer, Crowley Angst, Crowley Has a Heart, Death, Demisexual Castiel, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Is Gay, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel Loves Candy, Gabriel is Bad at Feelings, Gabriel is a Good Friend, Hospitalization, Human Gabriel, Hurt Sam Winchester, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, Lucifer (Supernatural) is Called Nick, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Near Death Experiences, Neighbors, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Multiple, Pansexual Gabriel, Parental Jody Mills, Pining Castiel, Pining Dean, Pining Gabriel, Possessive Lucifer, Prankster Gabriel, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Psychological Horror, Rating: M, Relationship(s), Sassy Lucifer, Stalking, Struggling Sam, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 105,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toogay4happy/pseuds/toogay4happy
Summary: Sam owns an antique shop with Dean and Castiel. When a new coffee shop and a new neighbor both appear at the same time as a series of murders, Sam struggles with his internal issues while trying to figure out which of his friends or family will be next. Or has he been the target all along?





	1. Mornings and First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> CAUTION! This story involves material that can be sensitive to some readers: stalking, emotional/ psychological manipulation, murder, mental illnesses, triggering descriptions, etc. If you feel that you will be able to read through such things, then please proceed at your own risk.

_Why did this have to happen?_

The words floated in the darkness of Sam Winchester's mind, taunting him. The ghostly hallucination of the question hovered for a moment longer then vanished like a tendril of smoke in the wind. It tickled his memory and forced him to remember the series of events that had led to this very moment.

Sam wondered what could have happened had he not been so trusting- if he hadn't acknowledged the devil within. He wondered if he could have prevented all of this torment, all of this death and destruction. The heavy silence of his prison- a dark and cold metal cage- mocked his valiant thoughts.

It reminded Sam that there was no escape; this was his reality. There would be no rescue for all of his friends and family were dead. He was alone. And it was all because of that one decision- that one mistake that changed his life forever.

 **October 3rd. 5:57 am**.

From the warmth of his bed, Sam watched as the rising sun peeked through the blinds of the window and sent rays of soft pale light across the popcorn ceiling above him. He was lying on his back with his hands over his chest, fingers entwined, and was counting each rise and fall as he breathed.

His eyes burned from lack of sleep and his throat was dry enough to make a desert jealous. His lips felt as though they had been glued to his teeth and he had a horrible taste on his tongue. From their perch on his chest, Sam's fingers held an odd prickling sensation in their tips; it almost felt like the pins and needles feeling one gets when a body part falls asleep.

He halfheartedly glanced over at the alarm clock sitting calmly on his bedside table. If his calculations were correct, Sam had been awake for almost four hours already. He'd have to open up the shop soon.

Though he knew that attempting to fall back asleep wasn't an option, Sam still longed for the pull of slumber. This had been his third night of insomnia and the effects were really starting to affect his performance at work. When Sam had opened the antique store, the last thing on his mind was to pass out every shift. It wasn't his fault though; he couldn't help the fact that his mind was too active at night to go to dreamland.

At least, that's what his brother Dean kept telling him. The day before, Sam had been right in the middle of helping a customer with a purchase when he just couldn't keep his eyes open. Apparently, he had been so “conked out” that he'd not only fallen asleep in the stockroom, but he'd also begun to snore- loudly and obnoxiously.

Although the customer had had no idea what was going on and hadn't heard a thing, Dean, who ran the shop with him, had kicked Sam out and sent him home. Sam felt a pang of the reminiscent guilt resurface. It wormed its way into the corner of his heart and pulsed there, sharp and ruthless.

Sam sighed and lifted his hand to rub the dry feeling from his eyes. His wrist throbbed a little and was creaky from being stuck in the same position for so long. Fingers trailing up to tangle in his hair, Sam laid there for a few more seconds and barely flinched when his alarm went off. When he closed his eyes, relief briefly washed over his face in tiny pin prickles.

“Okay, Sam, time to get up and face the day. Let's try to stay awake this time, yeah?” he murmured to himself. His voice was what he imagined an old crone with a smoking problem would sound like. He hit the snooze button with his palm, plunging the room into silence once more. Sam pulled the warm, thick blue flannel blanket from his body and shivered as the cold air seeped into his skin.

Holding back a sigh, he lurched up into a sitting position then swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Not two seconds after his feet hit the floor, his bedroom door swung open, letting in a burst of blinding light. “Rise and shine, Sammy!” crowed a loud, gruff voice from the doorway. Sam hissed and covered his eyes with both hands. There was a chuckle and the sound of footsteps coming towards his bed.

“I got breakfast. You still like bagels, right?” said the same voice, only this time it came directly by Sam's ear. “Well, good morning to you too, jerk,” Sam muttered. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine working its way into his temples. Groaning, Sam rubbed at his eyes and squinted against the light. The door closed and Dean, who had been the one to throw it open in the first place, looked up and grinned.

Once Dean had turned on the bedside lamp, Sam followed his older brother's gaze and saw Castiel- or Cas, for short- standing awkwardly by his dresser. “Hello, Sam,” Cas greeted in his gravelly, serious voice. Sam spared a half grin and slight wave in the man's direction. Cas was the third member to the brother's little party. He had joined their crew about eight years ago and they'd all been good friends ever since.

He, too, worked at their antique shop. Dean had been the one to recruit the trench coat wearing angel of a man. Unfortunately, Sam hadn't been aware of this until he'd threatened poor Cas with a gun to his head after finding him in the shop. In Sam's defense, he'd assumed that Castiel was a burglar and was there to steal the very valuable merchandise they had to sell.

Of course, Dean was there to the rescue and quickly explained the situation, which earned him Sam's signature bitch-face. Sam had apologized, but the incident had put a damper on their newfound acquaintanceship. As time when on, Sam had grown quite fond of Castiel and would even dare to call him his very good friend. He could only assume the feeling was mutual from Cas' point of view.

Dean, on the other hand, had a more...profound bond with the man. He and Castiel were the best of friends and no one could tear them apart. If asked, Dean would respond that Cas was like family to him, like another brother. But Sam and literally anyone else who saw the two interact would say otherwise. Sam's brother and Cas had a habit of engaging in periods of, what Sam liked to call, eye-fucking.

From another person's standpoint, it was like watching a couple in a romantic movie. Every time Dean and Cas had one of their sessions of prolonged eye contact, other people in the room would feel almost as though they were violating some intimate moment. The energy that vibrated between the men was so raw and so full of longing, it almost always made customers- and Sam, who had gotten used to it- stop and watch in awed anticipation.

It never failed to make Sam laugh when the people, expecting his brother and friend to start passionately kissing, dropped their mouths open in shock when the two would go about their business as though nothing had happened. The pair's so-called “locked away romance” had actually helped with business; more and more people wanted to see the two interact.

Dean and Cas were, of course, completely oblivious to why so many customers arrived at the shop each day. Sam figured that he'd let the two be clueless, at least until he couldn't take the sexual tension in the air anymore. Cas and Dean were both staring at him expectantly, bringing Sam back to his senses. “Sorry. Wasn't listening. What'd you say?” he said.

Dean frowned and his brows furrowed in slight annoyance. The shard of guilt pierced through Sam's heart again; he just couldn't stop failing his older brother. _You fucked up again._ Sam shoved this out of his mind and tried to focus; such thoughts sent him down dark paths and it was too early in the morning to visit them. “I said that before we open, we should go check out that new coffee shop across the street. I heard that they make pretty good stuff there. Wanna check it out?” Dean said.

At the thought of having the rush of hot caffeine in his veins, Sam nodded a little too eagerly. His temples throbbed at the motion, making him wince. _You deserve to suffer._ Cas tilted his head and his eyes squinted as he took in Sam's hunched over form. While Sam was busy trying to massage the pain from his head, Castiel sent Dean a look of concern. Dean caught the hidden message and his frown deepened.

Cas watched as his friend's jaw clenched and unclenched worriedly. “I'll pay for the coffee,” he said, still watching Dean. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but one hard look from Cas silenced him. The taller man stood and stretched, his back popping and his muscles relaxing from their coiled positions. When he snatched up one of the bagels from the bag Dean had set by his bed, his older brother smiled.

“That's the spirit, Sammy. Okay,” he said standing up, “Get dressed and make your face presentable before we head out.” Sam looked at his brother with his bitch-face on full power. Dean laughed as he ushered Cas out of Sam's bedroom, his hand clamped firmly on the man's shoulder. Sam smirked. “I'll make sure to take my time. I wouldn't want to walk in on you two sucking face,” he said nonchalantly.

Dean spluttered and his cheeks began to turn red. Cas, who hardly ever got Sam's innuendos, tilted his head in confusion. Dean shut the door quickly, but Sam could still hear the muffled conversation.

“I don't understand. What does he mean by sucking face? Is that something we should do? It sounds painful,”

“Dammit, Cas, don't ask me that! It's embarrassing,”

“You haven't answered my questions, Dean,”

“And I'm not gonna answer them. Just-just drop it,”

“But Dean-,”

Their voices faded as they walked away from Sam's room. Letting the smirk he'd plastered on his face drop, Sam rummaged through his dresser and closet. He chose his outfit randomly and, gathering his clothes in a bundle, hurried into the bathroom. Closing the door, Sam leaned against the smooth wood and sighed, shutting his eyes for a brief moment.

_You're disgusting._

A heavy downward pull tugged at his limbs and made him feel as though he were moving through an ocean current. His skull was a steel weight on his neck, making any head movement sluggish and nauseating. His mind felt muggy and there was even a light coat of film over his eyes that no amount of rubbing could remove.

 _Abomination_.

He felt another sigh rising in his throat. Sam could tell that it was going to be a long day and it was still early. He'd begun his day not even thirty minutes ago and it already sucked. All Sam wanted to do was crawl back into his bed and wish the day to be over. He knew, of course, that such things could not happen. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Sam set his bundle of clothes down on the counter and turned on the shower.

The wet splattering sound of the water hitting the tiles of the shower walls sent goosebumps prickling up and down his arms. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and winced. _Gross_.

He looked absolutely awful; his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath them, his hair was a ragged mess, and his lips were dry and chapped. A flash of black caught his eye and Sam peered closer, noticing a small scabbed over cut along his hairline. Odd; when did that happen? Sam's mouth turned down into a puzzled frown as he began to strip. He had been noticing such strange happenings more often.

From his out-of-the-blue insomnia to the fairly recent cut along his hairline, Sam was beginning to believe that either he was going crazy or he just simply did not care anymore. _This is your punishment_. He tipped his head back, trying to scramble the dark thoughts surfacing in his consciousness. He knew deep in his heart that, by continuing to ignore such depressing thoughts, it would only make things worse.

Sam knew this, but being who he was, he chose to keep his burdens to himself. It was bad enough that he'd repeatedly disappointed his older brother, who had been there for him since birth, but now here Sam was acting like a basket case. The shard in his chest pulsed along with his heartbeat- a jolt with each thump. _Just end it_. He gritted his teeth and once again gagged the intrusive voices in his mind.

He slipped his shirt off over his head, the bare skin of his chest and back tensing at the sudden cool air. Sam had his fingers hooked in the waist band of his pajama bottoms and boxers when he froze. Something...wasn't right. He looked up and around, his breath starting to come in tiny gasps through his nose. _Pathetic_. He couldn't quite place the ominous feeling that was welling up inside. It almost felt as though...someone were watching him.

Sam scoffed and tried to chuckle, but it came out in a wheezy puff of breath. That was impossible; the only people in the apartment were Dean, Cas, and himself. And Sam knew that neither Castiel nor Dean would spy on him in the shower. So, whose eyes did he feel?

The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end and his throat was becoming more dry and scratchy by the second. A bitter taste had sprung in the back of his mouth and a sort of bile rose in response. If Sam didn't calm down soon, he was bound to start puking. _Vile creature._ With this thought in mind, Sam closed his eyes and stripped off the rest of his clothes. He practically leaped into the shower and, behind the glass door, let out a sigh of relief.

Secure in the slightly cramped cube that was his shower, Sam allowed the hot stream of water to calm his nerves. It soaked into his long hair, ran down his face, curled over his neck and broad shoulders, stroked lovingly at the skin of his back, caressed the crevices of his chest, down his chiseled stomach, swept along his thighs, hugged closely along his calves, cascaded over his feet, and disappeared under his toes.

With each passing moment under the steamy spray, Sam could feel himself start to relax. Wiping some water out of his eyes, he grabbed some shampoo and massaged it into his scalp. His blunt fingernails sent shivers down his spine as he washed his hair in gentle circular motions. With his eyes shut tightly to prevent any soap from getting into them, Sam guided his fingers to the back of his head and made sure to get all of his hair sudsy.

After he'd completely washed his hair, Sam took the body wash and lathered up his skin with it. His hands trailed over every inch of him, scrubbing soap into each crevice and curve. The strong scent of the body wash filled the close quarters and seemed to hover like a pungent cloud of fragrance. Once Sam had thoroughly washed his body, he took a deep breath and began to wash his face.

The moment his eyes closed, the sensation of being watched returned- only this time it was more powerful and intense. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision and Sam felt all the breath leave his lungs. Suddenly, the overbearing scent of the body wash was more nauseating than comforting. His knees buckled underneath him and he hit the floor. He curled in the fetal position as a panic attack struck full force.

The voices he'd been smothering resurfaced in a crashing crescendo. Their words flew in hallucinatory waves at him, attacking like an air brigade. _Kill yourself. Monster. Look at what you've done now. You're a disgrace. How dare you breathe? Nuisance._ His chest constricted beyond belief and Sam struggled to inhale. All he was managing were tight, wheezing gasps that were beginning to make him light-headed.

The water roared around him, hitting his skin like mini whip slashes. A rising scream was trapped in the back of his throat, eager to be released but forbidden to do so. His heart was pounding in rapid, desperate beats. Blood was throbbing in his ears, sounding similar to the thundering footfalls of a racehorse. His hands clawed at his chest while Sam's eyes rolled back into his head. A shrieking ringing nearly shattered his eardrums and a powerful headache clobbered his brain into mush.

Through the storm of suffering, Sam heard what sounded like a voice. Then he was sitting up, his head tilted back so far that a sharp pang ran down his throat. His mouth hung open and water from the shower had gotten in, threatening to choke him. Soap stung at his eyes and nose. Sam was sure that he was going to die.

“Sam! Sammy! Hey, I need you to listen to me,” burst a voice through the void of panic. Sam vaguely recognized it as Dean's. Using all of his remaining energy, Sam focused on his older brother. “Breathe, Sammy, I need you to breathe. Think of your safe place,” Dean said. Sam tried to explain to his brother that it was extremely difficult, but all he managed to do was blubber out gibberish.

_Failure._

“Come on, Sammy. Breathe. Think of your safe place. I'm here. You're not alone. I've got you,” Dean's gruff, calming tone murmured. For Sam, it was like his older brother was inside his mind, providing instructions for relief. _Do you think you deserve it?_ Sam closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Deep inhale and slow exhale. In and out. An image of Dean pushed through the barrage of the voices' words.

His shuddering, weak breaths were slowly growing stronger and more steady. The voices were getting increasingly more faint and easier to muffle. Eventually, Sam was able to bring himself down to a much more stable state of mind. A hollow sob erupted from Sam's throat and he allowed tears to flow freely down his cheeks. There was a squeak as the tap was turned off, followed by the squelch of water going down the drain.

Something warm and fluffy wrapped around him and Sam let out a sigh of relief. He pulled his knees up to his chest and clutched onto the warm, familiar heat of his brother. “Dean,” he choked. Dean shushed him and held him close. Sam's head fit like a puzzle piece into the crook of Dean's neck, almost as though it belonged there. His throat held a lump in it and he had to swallow hard to keep breathing. Inhale and exhale.

Through the nose then out of the mouth. Once Sam felt like he was in a much better position, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Dean grinning down at him warmly. His green eyes sparkled with love and heavy concern. “Hey there, little brother. You good?” he murmured. Sam gulped and nodded, his hair tickling Dean's chin. Dean wiped away the excess soap and water from Sam's eyes and nose with his thumbs.

All at once, Sam felt like he was a little kid again, being taken care of by his older brother. He had stopped crying by this point and held his eyes tightly shut to concentrate on regulating his breathing. Using as much care as possible, Dean unhooked the detachable shower head from its perch and turned the water back on, making sure to switch the settings on the nozzle to gentle spray.

Then, once the temperature was acceptable, Dean very cautiously began to rinse the remaining suds from Sam's body. He was slow and precise with his movements to ensure that Sam didn't get too stressed out. When it came down to rinsing Sam's hair and face, Dean began to softly sing under his breath. Although Sam could not make out exactly what his older brother was singing, the deep, rumbling of his voice was calming enough to make Sam want to fall asleep.

He was so caught up in the relaxing sense of peace that he hardly noticed when Dean turned the water back off. The towel was then removed and replaced with an even warmer towel that made Sam sigh internally in contentment. Dean gently dried Sam's hair by carefully rubbing the towel against the top, sides and back of his little brother's head.

“Thanks. I think I'm better now,” Sam whispered. Dean didn't pause in his actions and continued rubbing. Sam closed his eyes again and felt his throat tighten; he really didn't deserve his brother's kindness. The voices ever so slightly pipped up from the darkness. _Not good enoug_ h. “Have you taken your meds this morning?” Dean asked. The voices were drowned out again by Dean's words.

Sam frowned and his brows furrowed slightly. Had he taken them? He couldn't recall. When Dean noticed the expression on Sam's face, he took that as the answer to his question. Stifling his sigh of worry, Dean got up and opened the medicine cabinet. He took out the rattling orange and white bottles with a grim expression.

He popped the caps of the medicine open with light fingers, causing the soft unsealing noises to echo in the bathroom's silence. Sam sat on the floor, wrapped from his shoulders to his feet in multicolored towels. He stared down at the design on the tiled floor as Dean filled a cup with water from the sink. His toes curled as the chilly air sent cramps through the arch tendons of his feet.

“Alright. Swallow these bad boys down. Then we can go for coffee, if you still wanna. Okay?” Dean said, kneeling down beside Sam. When his little brother lifted his eyes to meet Dean's in a doe-like gaze, Dean could feel his heart constrict. Sam had been having more and more anxiety attacks lately. It just about killed Dean to not be able to figure out the reason why. He'd done his best since childhood to protect his little brother, but how can someone protect against something like that? Dean forced a warm and easy smile on his face and handed Sam the pills.

Sam glanced down at the small white circles in his palm for a few seconds, a haunted and distant look in his eyes. Then he popped them into his mouth and took the glass of water from Dean. His older brother watched warily as Sam chugged down the liquid, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Sam gushed out a sigh and handed the empty glass back to Dean, who placed it on the counter.

“Are you sure you're alright, Sammy? You can stay home today, if you want. Cas and I can run the shop if you're not feeling up to it,” Dean said. Sam felt a rush of warmth towards his brother; no matter the situation, Dean would always say what he needed to hear. He shook his head with a small smile. “No, I'm fine, Dean, really. Maybe I could use the distraction. Besides, the last time I left you two alone in the shop, we were nearly mobbed by customers,” he said.

Dean let out a chuckle, though his brows were still knitted together in concern. “You just want the coffee,” he teased. Sam shrugged; he wasn't going to deny it. Coffee did sound wonderful. Dean laughed and ruffled Sam's hair, earning a slight bitch-face. “Get dressed then, caffeine-holic. We'll leave in a few minutes,” he said, closing the door behind him with a tiny click. Sam blinked slowly then pushed himself onto his hands and knees.

The towels slipped from his back and torso, landing on the floor in a wet heap. Completely naked, Sam stood and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a grave expression. His whole body felt drained and his limbs were still shaking. The medicine would surely help and he'd be able to go about his day without too much trouble. Sam sighed; he would have to just keep telling himself that.

Sam reached to grab the clean boxer shorts from the bundle and gasped as a flash of pain burned through one of his triceps. Muttering under his breath, Sam lifted his arm and peered under it. As he'd expected, a purple bruise was glaring back at him. He frowned and poked it lightly. It pulsed angrily and Sam winced slightly. Turning his arm around, Sam noticed that he had four other bruises of different sizes along his muscle.

An irrational flash of fear lit up in his gut; the bruises formed a hand-print. Desperate to find some excuse for the bruise, Sam decided that it had been caused by Dean grabbing him in the shower. That made sense to him, yes, that'd be fine. He kept telling himself this as he clenched his teeth against the tugging bruise as he applied deodorant.

He heard Dean laugh at something from the other room and the sound gave him a sense of sanctity. He could almost forget about previous occurrences just from hearing his brother laugh, which wasn't too often. Usually, it was only he and Cas that could invoke any type of chuckle from Dean. Sam chuckled through his nose and got dressed, feeling the warm cotton of his t-shirt soothe the twitchy feeling in his skin.

He tugged on his orange plaid shirt and buttoned it carefully. His fingers slipped a little on a button and he cursed loudly. His voice echoed in the bathroom and hit against his eardrum annoyingly. He longed for his medicine to kick in, to make everything feel better. The feeling of eyes on him still lingered, but Sam forced his anxiousness to the back of his mind; he was not about to have another episode.

He deftly pulled on his boxers and jeans, slipping a black belt through the loops. Looking at his reflection again, Sam let out a small sigh. Now if he could only keep the exhaustion to a minimum, he might last. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and watched with smug satisfaction as it smoothed out perfectly. He secretly enjoyed having his chin length hair; his little trick that he'd learned early on had saved him the money and struggle of owning a hairbrush. Plus it looked cool when it was windy outside.

Feeling much better than he had before, Sam quickly brushed his teeth and left the bathroom. On his way to his bedroom, he noticed Dean and Cas sitting on the couch, leaning into one another while they talked softly. A burst of warmth filled the leftover aching in his chest; they really were too cute. Shaking his head with a smile, Sam flicked on the light to his room and almost instantly dropped to his knees to peer under his bed for his socks and sneakers.

After moving several articles of clothing out of the way, Sam found two clean socks- one black and one neon yellow- and slipped them on his still water wrinkled feet. Their warmth and softness was comforting. Sam wriggled his toes inside the socks, his nose crinkling in delight; something about having mismatched socks always made him feel like a child again. Grinning, Sam shoved himself to his feet and grabbed his cellphone from its spot on his dresser.

He clicked it on and took a sharp intake of breath while squeezing his eyes shut. Peeking an eye open, Sam exhaled in a gush; the phone was on full battery, which meant his crappy charger actually worked. Score! Sam clicked his phone back off and slipped it into his back pocket. He hadn't seen his sneakers under his bed, so he made a beeline for his closet. When he opened the doors, Sam did a double-take of surprise; did he really own that much plaid?

Laughing a little under his breath, he searched for his shoes and frowned when the scruffy, brown Chuck Taylor's were nowhere to be found. Sam glanced around his room briefly, scanning for the clash of brown against the scratchy gray carpet. When he couldn't even find that, Sam hurried into the living room. “Dean, have you seen my shoes?” he asked, his hunt for the footwear distracting him from the not-couple on the couch. He heard Dean clear his throat.

“Nice socks,” his brother said, ignoring his little brother's question entirely. Sam didn't even pause, his hair sweeping into his eyes as he hit the floor to search under the dining room table. He was used to Dean's teasing and it didn't bother him too much anymore. “I think they're nice, too. They remind me of the colors of a honeybee,” Cas said with a smile.

Although Castiel was oblivious to Dean's sudden embarrassment, Sam sure as hell wasn't. He stood up straighter and sent his older brother a smirk. “Thanks, Cas,” he said, raising his brow at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and grunted a little as he lurched to his feet. He held out a hand, without thinking, to help Cas up too. Sam, of course, waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which earned him a sharp glare and the phrase “I will literally punch you if you don't knock it off” mouthed at him.

Raising his hands in surrender, Sam glanced down and spotted a lone, tattered white lace peeping out from under the black couch. “Aha! There they are!” he exclaimed as he tugged his seemingly lost tennis shoes from the sofa's clutches. Dean made a ' _this dork_ ' face while the corner of Cas' mouth quirked up at Sam's excitement. Sam enthusiastically untied the laces and shoved his big feet into the sneaker which looked like they'd gone through WWIII.

' _It's better to see him with a smile on his face than with those awful dead-eyed expressions he always has when he thinks we're not looking,'_ Castiel thought. Ever since the attacks had started happening, Cas had always kept a sharp eye and ear on Sam. He had been the one to tell Dean to check on Sam during his shower. Something just..didn't feel right. Though, things had been worse before...much worse.

It had all started only a couple of weeks ago. From what the newscaster had reported, a serial killer that went by the name of Lucifer had broken free from prison and was loose in the city. At first, Sam, Dean, and Cas didn't seem too nervous about it; they lived in such a small town, they doubted that one lowly man would take an interest in it. They weren't the only ones, of course; most of the citizens felt the same.

But, only a few days later, everyone was proven wrong. People- customers that the three had come to know and love- soon began disappearing. The local police tried to blow the whole thing over as common missing person cases. Until...Jess, Sam's girlfriend, was targeted. Cas hadn't heard all of the details, but Dean did tell him that she had died in a huge fire.

Sam had been inside and would have burned to death trying to save her had Dean not been there to pull him out. Sam was heartbroken- still is, from what Castiel could tell. He stayed in his room for days on end, heaving broken, tear-less sobs behind closed doors. Not even a week had passed before Sam finally came out of solitude. Although Cas and Dean were ecstatic that he was out and about, both realized that Sam was acting...strange. A little too happy.

He kept claiming that he was fine and not to worry. Well, up until he collapsed on the kitchen floor, gasping for breath. Dean had been the one to notice that something wasn't right with Sam. He thought that maybe Sam had gotten a bug or was just having one of the headaches he'd had since childhood. When it turned out to be none of those things, Dean had quickly taken Sam to a doctor.

At first, Sam's brother despised even the idea of medicating the poor guy, but after Sam suffered with another attack, he reconsidered. The pills seemed to do wonders for Sam, which made a tiny sliver of relief wriggle its way into the cloud of worry and concern that Cas and Dean both felt for their friend and brother. Sam seemed to be in better control over his emotional issues, but Cas still held doubts that his friend was all the way ' _okay_ ' like he said that he was.

“Alright, so coffee? When did this place open up anyway? I thought it was still under construction?” Sam said, interrupting Cas' thoughts. He stood tall and held his chin a little higher than usual, which was a good sign that the medicine was starting to work. Only Castiel heard the tiny sigh of relief from Dean as the man sent his younger brother a grin.

“Just finished it yesterday,” Dean said, “A few customers have already visited and sent me emails, saying we should check it out. What harm could come from taking a quick peek at the place, right?” For some reason, Dean's words struck an odd wave of foreboding to crash over Castiel. He made a mental note to do a background check on the new coffee shop.

Sam stretched again, this time his neck cracked like a series of popcorn kernels popping. He gushed out a breath and grinned. “Okay. Coffee sounds great. I need the caffeine,” he said. Dean caught on to Sam's repetitiveness, though he carefully hid his worry behind a small smile. Cas was not as careful, however, and tilted his head. Before he could question Sam, Dean chimed in.

“Dude, we all do. That's why I said we should go,” he said, a light teasing note to his voice. When Sam walked past them with a laugh, Dean grabbed Cas' arm. His brows were scrunched in concern and his mouth turned down into a frown. “He hasn't been sleeping again,” he muttered. A sinking feeling sat in the pit of Cas' stomach. “Do you think it's the night terrors again?” he asked in an equally low voice.

Since Jessica's death, Sam had been plagued with horrifyingly vivid nightmares that only Dean could calm him down from. Even in his apartment across the hall, Castiel could hear the screams and whimpers of Sam's terror and Dean's cries that everything was alright. He shivered; it still haunted him to this day, even though Sam claimed the dreams had ceased. Dean seemed doubtful, but a worry creased his brow regardless.

Cas longed to kiss away the worried look on his best friend's face, but he knew that now was not the time to be focusing on romantic relations. As Dean busily shut and locked the apartment door behind them, Sam found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to get moving. His medication made him hyper and he could almost feel the pills sending soothing instructions to his anxiety ridden brain.

Castiel stood off to the side, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trench coat. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Sam glanced at him curiously, wondering what his mysterious friend could be pondering so seriously this early in the morning. The clinking of keys drew Sam's attention away from Castiel and back to his brother, who had begun to swing the keys around on his index finger.

As they made their way towards the elevator, Sam noticed a stack of large brown cardboard boxes next to a vacant apartment. He read the name ' _Nick_ ' on one of the boxes and made a hum of interest in the back of his throat. “Seems like we've got a new neighbor,” Dean commented, noticing the boxes. At that moment, the door to the apartment opened and a blond man stepped out. He was fairly tall- not as tall as Sam, of course- and had an olive colored polo shirt on with black khaki pants.

He was wiping his forehead with the back of his arm when he spotted the three men standing a few feet away. The man smiled in greeting. His eyes swept over them, landing on Sam last. An impish expression shifted his friendly grin and Sam felt his heart pound. “Morning, gentlemen,” the man said. While Cas and Dean nodded ' _hello_ ', Sam stood there frozen. He didn't know what to make of this new person.

When the guy stooped down to pick up a box, Sam realized that he had been staring. He cleared his throat. “Want some help?” Cas and Dean's heads swiveled around in unison as they stared at him in shock. Nick, too, seemed surprised, but then his eyes lit up in amusement. Sam's head was spinning; why had he asked that? “As much as I'd love to accept your assistance,” Nick began, “I can handle a few measly boxes.” The amount of sass in the man's voice was nearly overwhelming.

Castiel frowned. But before his friend could say anything, Nick winked charmingly. “Thanks though. I might take you up on your offer when the movers get here with my furniture,” he said. Sam found himself chuckling, which seemed to please the new neighbor immensely. He waved in a one-handed farewell as he carried the box into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. Dean grabbed Sam by the arm and tugged him until the two were walking side by side again.

As Cas pressed the button for the elevator, Dean turned to Sam with a scowl. “The hell was that?” he snapped. Sam blinked, confused. “What? I was just trying to be neighborly,” he defended. Dean rolled his eyes and mocked him under his breath in a high-pitched voice. Sam frowned in annoyance. “I don't see what was so bad about being nice, Dean,” he said. The elevator opened and they all piled inside.

“He's bad news. I didn't like the way he was looking at you,” his brother said. Sam's bitch-face rose to the surface. “And how exactly was he looking at me, Dean?” he asked. Dean hesitated for a moment. Cas stood nestled in the corner of the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. “I dunno, man! He just...he gives me the creeps, okay?” Dean said, exasperated. The power of Sam's bitch-face rose a few notches.

As the doors to the elevator closed, the tension between the two brothers thickened. “How could he creep you out already, Dean? We've only just met him!” Sam said. Dean opened his mouth to say something then closed it again. His green eyes flickered with some emotion that Sam could not place then Dean looked away. An awkward silence, broken only by the static heavy elevator music that played softly through the old speakers. Castiel glanced from brother to brother with a worried expression.

“Cas, what do you think?” Dean asked suddenly. Poor Cas looked like an unsuspecting kid being called on by a mean teacher. It didn't help that Dean was pissed off. “Well, I-I can hardly give my opinion on a man I don't know,” Cas stammered. The corner of Sam's mouth lifted in a smirk. “But,” Cas continued, “from what I gathered from that brief meeting, he did seem to be rather sketchy.”

Both Sam and Dean looked at Cas; they were torn between laughing and scoffing in disbelief. “Dude, sketchy? When did you start using that word?” Sam asked. Cas puffed up like a ruffled bird. “I watch television,” he retorted. Dean tried and failed to stifle a chuckle. “Anyway, he appeared to be looking mostly at Sam,” Cas said. All eyes were on Sam. He blushed in embarrassment. “Oh, come on, he was looking at all of us. He was saying hello,” Sam said lamely.

Dean and Cas shared a look and Sam felt his ears heat up. Thankfully, the two dropped the subject, much to Sam's relief. The mood had lightened considerably. They were laughing over a joke told by Dean when the elevator doors opened. As Sam stepped out with his older brother and friend, he could barely remember the way Nick had looked at him. Sam forgot the masked predatory gaze as it took in his form, how Nick looked like he was debating on whether or not to fuck him...or kill him.


	2. Behind Closed Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I am still nervous to post this, I am grateful and very pleasantly surprised by how well the first chapter did. I hope you all enjoy this. Usually, it all goes downhill after the second chapters for me.

**October 3 rd. 6:35 am.**

The cool fall wind nearly knocked Dean down as the three walked to the awaiting sleek black 67' Chevy Impala that was parked close to their building. A few scattered leaves sat on top of the car's hood and roof, painting the shadow blackness with splashes of color. Early sunlight shone warmly on the Impala, causing a bright glint that nearly blinded Sam. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the reflective glare.

Sam sighed and glanced halfheartedly over his shoulder at the building behind them. It had taken longer than they'd expected to finally get outside; the doorman, a young college boy named Adam Milligan, just would not leave them alone. Sam only slightly regretted speaking to the boy when he had first started working there; since the moment Sam had said hello, Adam had taken to the boys like a fledgling duck.

The minute Sam, Dean, and Cas had exited the elevator, the doorman had struck up a conversation. The guy usually talked about his mother and today was no exception. It was sweet the first couple of times he'd mentioned her, but after including her in every conversation, it got annoying. This time, it was about how she was coming to visit him in a few months.

Trying to be polite, Sam had explained that they were late for work, which the boy ignored. When they tried to hurry towards the door, Adam actually followed them, chatting almost obnoxiously. It took Dean snapping at him to “knock it the hell off” to get the doorman to backpedal.

“Have a good day at work, you guys!” Adam had called after the men's retreating forms. Dean shook his head and tugged his brown leather jacket closer. “I don't know why that kid wants to talk to us so badly. It's not like we know him that well,” he grumbled. Cas shivered and nonchalantly walked closer to Dean.

“It's like he's one of those long-distant relatives that claim they knew you when you were a baby,” Sam joked. It wasn't like they hated the guy- Adam wasn't too bad, truth be told- but, damn, he could really be persistent. Once the trio had reached their car, Dean immediately went around to the driver's side.

A slow affectionate smile softened Dean's expression as he bumped his palm along the Impala's shiny black hood. “Hey, Baby, you miss me?” he murmured. Sam smiled a little and opened the passenger side door with a creak. Dean treated his car better than he did himself sometimes. But Sam didn't say too much to his brother; it made Dean happy when the Impala was taken care of. And if Dean was happy then Sam was happy.

Castiel silently slid into the backseat. As Dean slammed the driver's side door shut, Sam noticed that their friend hadn't said much since Adam's talking spree. He decided to dismiss it as Cas just being tired. Sam snorted under his breath; he could relate. The backs of his eye sockets were throbbing and a squeezing sort of headache gripped at the top of his brain. The engine roared to life as Dean gently turned the key in the ignition.

“And we're off. Coffee and hours of hard labor await,” Dean quipped. Sam spared a chuckle while Cas hardly smiled. A knot of worry was churning in the worried man's gut; there was something...off about the atmosphere. It felt as though they were in danger, but from what he could see there was nothing around that could do them harm.

As much as he wanted to push away the sensation that was sending chills up and down his spine, Castiel couldn't help but wonder: what could possibly have caused this? Once the car began to move, the feeling started to fade. Yet, Cas couldn't bring himself to breathe a sigh of relief; he was still nervous.

And he had every right to be. Standing at his window on the sixth floor, a figure watched with burning eyes as the Impala rumbled out of sight. Streaks of orange sunlight shone through the blinds, painting his face with shadowed lines of light. Due to the clash of the glaring sun and the frightening glint in the man's gaze, it almost looked like he had glowing red eyes.

He waited until he could no longer hear the soft hum of the engine. The dangerous aura that surrounded the man only intensified as he spun on his heel. Calmly, Nick walked into his bedroom and moved a large wardrobe out of the way of the wall behind it. It took a few tries; the damn thing was heavy.

Once the wardrobe had been moved, a barely noticeable crawlspace was revealed. He pushed open its door and ducked inside. The crawlspace was bigger than it appeared. Within its dusty confinements, Nick had set up a series of monitors that filled up majority of the space. A round dark red cushion sat in the center of the floor, drenched in the white glow of the screens.

Nick settled down on the cushion, sitting cross-legged. Pulling a keyboard closer, he began clicking a variety of buttons, the screens flickering like changing television channels. Nick's eyes darted over the monitors, the glare reflecting in his pupils. Abruptly, he stopped clicking, a dark expression of excitement contorting his face.

“Work, work, work, Sam. Don't you ever find time to have a little fun?” he whispered. The sound of slightly muffled classic rock blared through the speakers of the screens. The main monitor, sitting in the center of several smaller ones, shimmered with a static plagued video. Its light shone eerily over the man's figure. His shadow stretched out behind him, blanketing the worn hardwood floor like a dark coverlet.

If only it wasn't so damn hot in there. The crawlspace reeked of the dusty scent of whirring computer systems and the spicy smell of pheromones from the perspiring man on the cushion. Ignoring the heat, Nick sighed like a lovesick teenager as he watched Sam Winchester stare out the window of his brother's car. He was thankful for the soundproof walls of the tiny room; he didn't need his neighbors listening in.

Taking in every detail, Nick traced the hard lines of the oblivious man's facial features, the soft curve of his lips, the three moles rising almost delicately from his skin, everything. He didn't want to miss a single second of Sam's life; after all, Nick had been searching for someone like him for a long, long time.

Ever since Nick had seen Sam's picture in the newspaper advertisement for his cute little antique shop, Nick knew that he was the one. The prison guard might've taken away his privilege to read newspapers, but Nick had stolen a peek from one of his prison mates' paper. He was glad that he did; Sam was beautiful.

Nick broke out of that dirty cell not even a week later; he'd had to prepare or he'd have left earlier. It was surprising how simple a guard could be lulled to sleep. It was even more surprising how unsecured the prison's security alarm system was. Nick had disarmed it in a few clicks and a flick of the wrist.

It had taken him another week to find out where Sam lived. He'd hacked the police station's records, but the local library's computer system had nearly ratted him out once it figured out what he was doing. But that didn't matter; he'd gotten what he wanted.

He wrote down the name and number of the building and Nick applied for an apartment immediately. Deciding on using his deceased twin's name, Nick played the part of an innocent buyer perfectly. Honestly, he believed he deserved an award for his performance.

It was also a good thing that the stupid police officer who had arrested him had fucked up his mugshot; the poor sap was drunk off his ass. No one knew what “Nick” looked like; they only knew the crudely drawn portrait of the murderer, Lucifer. A giggle rose up in Nick's throat as he fiddled with the focus of the Impala camera; people were so foolish these days.

He had waited patiently, oh so patiently. He had even suppressed the urge to slit her throat when the landlord showed him all of the dusty abandoned apartments for rent. The moment she had shown him the vacant one that was only six doors down from Sam's, he was sold. He signed the paperwork that very day and received the keys in less than a fortnight.

Then came the next part of Nick's masterful plan. Waiting until nightfall, he walked right into the building, acting like he belonged there. He even said hello to the scruffy haired doorman, who didn't look up from the handheld video game in his hands while muttering a return greeting. He took the elevator up to the floor he would soon share with Sam.

Nick could feel the reminiscent bubbling excitement in his veins that sent shudders of anticipation through him. He remembered how the first twinge of nervousness pricking at his stomach; what if Sam refused him? Nick chuckled again, a bit louder. From the way Sam's cheeks had flushed a lovely pink, Nick was certain that wouldn't be an issue.

His heart beat faster in his chest at the memory of Sam's eyes on him. They were so...memorizing. The common misconception of them being brown when, oh ho, they were a glorious hazel. The deep rumble of Sam's little chuckle induced a cascade of goosebumps to prickle along Nick's skin as it replayed in his mind.

His hair, gently fluttering from the cool breeze of a rusty air vent, had looked so much softer than Nick had imagined. And it was such a flattering length, framing his beautiful cheekbones like the perfect picture. Nick felt his hands twitch and he clenched them into loose fists.

He longed to touch it, to run his fingers through those luscious brown locks. A rush of adrenaline filled Nick's stomach; he would see Sam later- well, in person, that is. Maybe then...he rapidly shook his head. No. He had to bide his time. It wouldn't do to scare Sam off when they'd only just met.

But this had proven to be more difficult than he had originally planned; only a day or two ago, Sam had been right there under his fingertips. When Nick had exited the elevator and made his way down the hall to Sam's apartment, he'd gone straight to the room where Sam was sleeping soundly. Nick could still feel the rushing heat that poured into him at the sight of Sam's slumbering form.

He was so...vulnerable. The memory by itself sent a tingling heated sensation through Nick's nerves. Which was why he just couldn't resist touching Sam- just a little. That tanned, smooth skin had been so delicious, so worth the risk. However, the bulging swell of muscle in Sam's arm had been a little too satisfying for Nick's self-control; he'd held on too hard and ended up leaving bruises.

Unhappy with the fact that he'd left a mark on his precious Sam, Nick had instantly turned to leave. And he would have left...if Sam hadn't chosen that moment to turn over in his sleep. Drawn to the cute sleepy noises Sam had made, Nick had very cautiously faced the sleeping man again.

A lock of brown hair had draped over Sam's eyebrow and lid. Nick hadn't been able to resist moving closer to brush it away, but he also had not wanted to hurt Sam again. He'd used the tip of the lock-pick he'd used to unlock the front door to gently move the stray lock out of Sam's face.

Things had, of course, gone downhill after that. The elder brother- Dean, wasn't it?- had stumbled past Sam's room on his way to the bathroom. His footsteps were so clunky and loud, they'd caused Nick to jump, startled. The lock-pick had sliced into the skin of Sam's forehead, just under his hairline. Cursing internally, Nick had wiped the blood away and fled the room before the stirring Sam could fully wake up.

He escaped like a thief in the night- silent and stealthy. Nick tapped his nails over the keyboard in annoyance; he'd ended up harming Sam regardless of how many precautionary measures he took. He was glad that he'd managed to get into the apartment the day before to install those cameras; if he hadn't, Nick was sure he'd never see Sam again.

Dean would make sure of that. Nick scowled and began to gnaw at his thumbnail. Who did that man think he was? Dean and the other male were very standoffish when Nick had greeted them in the hall earlier. They seemed...suspicious of him. He snorted; let them be wary. It wouldn't change anything. Sam belonged to him. Or he would. Eventually.

The sound of Sam coughing drew Nick's attention back to the screen. Like a moth with a flame, he leaned in with intense focus and fascination. His gaze locked onto every little movement Sam made: the bobbing of his throat as he coughed, the way his lips shifted, to the curl of his hand against his mouth.

Nick could sit there all day, watching his favorite human being doing absolutely nothing; he could sneeze and Nick was interested. But soon...soon he wouldn't have to watch Sam from behind a screen. No. Nick would get his chance to have Sam become his. Only his. But alas, he could not keep indulging in his lovely fantasies; Nick had work to do. A lot of work.

He rapidly typed a few keys and set the screens to record. When he returned home, Nick would have his very own Sam Winchester movie. The thought sent a trill of excitement down his spine. Before he left the crawlspace, he turned back and swooned as Sam's eyes briefly trailed over the space where Nick had carefully hidden one of his many, many cameras.

Oh, yes, he had cameras everywhere. And he'd set them up so carefully and precise. He had a viewing point of every corner of Sam's apartment. It had been too easy- child's play, really. After ridding himself of those awful chaffing handcuffs, Nick had scaled the six stories of the apartment building when the brothers were not home.

He'd picked the lock of the sliding glass door of the balcony and had slipped inside the dark apartment as quiet as a mouse. Making sure that no one had spotted him- though he was positive that not a soul could have possibly seen him what will the drastic amount of effort he took to remain hidden-, Nick had set to work setting his eyes around the home.

The cameras were his own clever little inventions and were untraceable to the naked eye. All one had to do was attach the camera to an object that overlooked the house but it itself was overlooked in general. It was brilliant! No one could ever find them. Well, unless someone paid attention to every minuscule detail.

But no one had that sort of time or patience and, of course, the motivation to actually search for the hidden cameras. Nick had hid them in the perfect spots, too. He could see nearly every angle of the cramped apartment. Thanks to the 24-7 surveillance, Nick would never have to miss a second of his Sam's life.

Damn, he loved the sound of that. Sam would be his, now and forever. And there was absolutely nothing that could get in Nick's way. If the inevitable did come into play, well, he would just have to take care of whomever dared to have such gall to intrude on Nick's plans.

His tongue flicked out and ran over his lips; he'd take care of them alright. He'd be merciless, listening to his victim's screams with such glee and- _beep!beep!_. Torn from the dark bloodbath playing out in his head, Nick glanced down at his watch. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late for the job he'd gotten after getting the keys to his home.

Frowning, he quickly opened his front door and shoved the remaining boxes into his apartment. His apron, name-tag, and keys were snatched roughly on Nick's way out. He paused abruptly, halfway down the hallway; there was no way he'd put that room at risk by leaving his apartment unlocked.

The silver key was a bit grimy, having been lodged under the mini Borrachero tree he kept in a small pot by his bed. Without much of thought, Nick wiped the dirt off on his apron and locked the door to his apartment. To make absolutely certain that no living being could enter, he shoved on the door and tried the handle about six times.

Satisfied that his secrets were secured in the privacy of his new home, Nick set off towards the elevators. As he pressed the button, Nick closed his eyes and breathed in the stuffy, stale air inside the cramped box. As he suspected, there was still the faintest trace of that intoxicating scent of Sam's newly showered skin.

Nick shuddered as he was lost in a reverie of nude Sam Winchester in the shower. He never imagined that he'd ever be jealous of water until he watched it run all over that toned, lovely body. And the way Sam's shoulders flexed when he rubbed shampoo into such magnificent hair...Nick's subconsciousness trailed off from reality, focusing on his mental imagery.

Unknown to Sam that he was the star of his new neighbor's personal film, the exhausted man sat silently with his gaze set firmly on the passing old buildings and cars. Dean had one of his many music cassette tapes playing loudly in the Impala's radio. Over his brother's slightly off-key sing-a-long, Sam could make out that the song currently playing was _Dazed and Confused_ by Led Zeppelin.

No amount of convincing could make Dean Winchester play anything other than classic rock. Sam tried a few times to suggest some variety, but he was always met with one of his brother's sassy remarks: “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, Sammy. That's the rule.”

Sam mouthed at his knuckle and glanced briefly into the rear-view mirror at Castiel. He, too, was sitting quietly while taking in the scenery of the town. The man seemed upset about something, judging from his furrowed brow and deep frown lines. “Cas? You okay there, buddy?” Dean asked, turning down the music.

Sam's head could not have snapped any faster in his brother's direction; Dean never turned down his music. Ever. And he had apparently noticed Castiel's distress before Sam could ever say a word. He internally snorted; why was he surprised? Dean's green eyes, originally glowing as he sang along to his music, were now dark with worry.

The transition made a churning feeling knot in Sam's stomach, disintegrating the mirth. He wished that the look on his brother's face would disappear and never return. Cas made a tiny gasp of an inhale, as though he had been startled out of a daydream. “What?” he asked. Sam and Dean shared a look; he sounded dazed.

When Castiel got lost in his thoughts, it usually meant that he had picked up on something that the other two had not. “What's up, Cas?” Dean asked in a more serious tone. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Now that he was paying attention, there did seem to be a certain...tenseness in the car.

“I don't-”

“Cas,”

Dean drew out the name in a warning tone as the car halted at a red light. Castiel fidgeted for a moment then sighed. Reluctantly, he turned to face the Winchesters with his mouth turned slightly down in worry. “It's...,” he sighed, “It's probably nothing, but...I feel like there are more than three of us in the car.”

Cold numbness spread through both the driver and the passengers. Sam could feel the anxious stirring in his gut begin to quicken. Dean had gone as pale as a sheet and ended up accidentally beeping the horn as the light turned green. Another driver- a blonde woman with a hooked nose- glared at Dean through her window from over a pair of bright blue glasses.

She sniffed in annoyance when Dean blatantly ignored her. The woman sped ahead of the Impala and beeped her horn as she passed. Not caring about the offended woman, Dean held Castiel's stare and wouldn't let it go. “What do you mean by that?” he asked. Sam glanced around nonchalantly, looking into the side mirrors and back windshield for any sign that perhaps someone were following them.

Cas shuffled and a pink blush warmed his cheeks. He didn't know how to tell his friends that he had begun to feel the peculiar sense of paranoia only a few moments after they had begun driving. His eyes kept flicking around in search of a nonexistent presence. His skin itched and prickled with unease. On top of that, his body just couldn't keep still.

He didn't know what the hell was going on with him. Maybe he was just being silly, but Cas really did feel like there was another presence in the car with them. “I don't know. Perhaps I'm just tired and imagining things,” he eventually confessed. Saying the words aloud gave Cas stomach pain.

He knew that his face must've been contorted by the sudden sickness and Cas concentrated on putting up a mask to hide it. Sam and Dean both had their attention fixated on him now, much to his dismay. The boys raised their brows in disbelief but dropped the subject when Cas smiled sheepishly.

Dean hesitated, his mouth opening with the intention of saying something to cheer the now very depressed looking Castiel then it closed. He clenched his jaw and pulled into the alleyway beside their antique shop. _The Family Business_ sign, which was engraved in gold lettering along the front of the brick hovel, glimmered in the morning sunlight.

Dew clung to the honeysuckle and grass outside of the shop like miniature moonbeams. Frost fogged up the two large glass windows, smudging the painted phrase: _Saving People, Hunting Things_. All three men had lost count of how many times they had had to explain their slogan.

The cool October wind gently rustled the soft, crinkly red and yellow leaves scattering the sidewalk in front of the antique shop. A squirrel swiped at its face with its tiny paws before scrambling wildly up the tall ancient oak tree that grew in the center of the plaza. Sidewalks wound around the tree's pedestal and even a few donated park benches sat collecting dew.

The mayor, a beautiful woman by the name of Lisa Braeden, had had the tree positioned in the middle of the roundabout. The variety of shops that lined the circle of asphalt were placed just so for the tree to always be in the center of it all. The system worked; people of all ages could safely go from store to store, however many times they pleased, and would still never get lost.

Beside _The Family Business_ , there were only a few stores opening so early in the morning. It was also one of the few stores still open for business; since the recent disappearances, owners had been shutting down their shops out of fear that the murderer would walk in at any moment.

“Sam, Dean, Cas! Hey! Morning!” called a chipper voice. Huddled in front of their store, the three men turned as one as a red haired woman drove up on her moped. Immediately, each man felt a rush of warmth towards the newcomer.

“Heya, Charlie,”

“What's up?”

“Shouldn't you have worn a helmet?”

Sam and Dean glanced over at Cas. He had a look of disapproval on his face as Charlie switched off her ignition. “I'm working on it, dude. You only get paid so much as a game store owner,” she defended. Cas still seemed a bit huffy towards the situation until he was wrapped up in one of Charlie's enthusiastic hugs.

She pulled back with a grin then moved to Dean, who kissed her on the side of her head. He tried to look grumpy, but they all knew that he wasn't fooling anyone; he loved her just as much as the others. She was like the sister they had never wanted. Sam smiled down at the red-haired woman as Charlie tilted her head back to look at him.

“Jeez, I swear you get taller every time I see you,” she scolded playfully. Sam shook his head with a laugh and tried his best not to loom over her. When Charlie release Sam from their hug, her mouth was opened wide in a powerful yawn. This time, Dean was the one frowning in disapproval.

“How many hours of sleep did you get last night?” he asked. Charlie quickly took a step back with her hands up in the ' _but wait I can explain_ ' stance. Sam didn't blame her for becoming defensive; Dean had his hands on his hips and was glaring at her suspiciously. It was like watching a parent about to scold a child.

“Only about, like, five hours, but listen!” she said as Dean's frown deepened, “I got a new set of games in stock and, as the owner, it's my job to test them out to see if they work, right? Besides, it was soo worth it. They were awesome!” A happy, wistful expression had lit up Charlie's face which made it difficult for Mom Dean to be too angry.

“Next time, get more hours in! I shouldn't have to tell you to take care of yourself,” he said in a gruff tone. His words were harsh, but his face had softened. “I can take care of myself!” Charlie began. One look from Dean made her bit her lip. Charlie looked down at her shoes then back up at her boys sheepishly. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” she muttered.

A huge, dorky grin lit up Dean's face as he got her reference. Sam rolled his eyes and took the keys out of his brother's hand. “Come on, Cas. They're going to geek out about Star Wars and if we don't open the shop, no one will,” Sam said in amusement. Dean and Charlie both turned their heads in Sam's direction as though offended.

“Hey! We don't geek out!”

“You're one to talk, Sammy,”

Sam ignored them and unlocked the door to the antique store. There could be a multitude of words for the way the interior of the shop smelled, but for most, only one sufficed: _old_. Sam flicked on the lights, allowing the cluttered room to be bathed in golden illumination.

Even though the lights were on, the inside of the building, which wasn't very big to begin with, still held a dark feel to it. Shelves and tables filled to their edges with an assortment of ancient and delicate artifacts contributed to the sense of claustrophobia the store gave when first entering.

The two glass windows did nothing to brighten up the space; they were one sided glass. Installing new windows hadn't been an option when Sam and Dean had bought the store. The original owner had been very clear that the Winchesters were not allowed to change anything physically about the building.

Since the owner was kind enough to sell his property to the boys for a decent price, Sam and Dean relented. Besides, it was nice to be able to see their customers before they entered the store. The downside was awkwardly looking up to find a person checking themselves out in the mirror side of the window.

Castiel walked in behind Sam and tensed up immediately. This was the worst case scenario; Sam was like a bull in a china shop around the fragile antiques while Cas had a terrible habit of accidentally knocking full displays down. There was a reason they both worked in the back of the store. The two shared a look and proceeded to move like ninjas in a laser beam booby trap.

Dean and Charlie came in shortly afterwards to find Cas and Sam in awkward maneuvering positions. Tall, blundering Sammy looked like he was doing the Time Warp. Clumsy, uncoordinated Castiel had his arms high above his head and was wedged ass to crotch against the bookshelf and vase table. Both men were beat red.

It was the best day of Charlie's life- or at least that's what Sam gathered from her “it's Christmas and I've just struck the mother load of gifts” expression. Dean, however, lurched forward to catch Cas as he lost his balance extracting himself from the tight squeeze. Ancient books fell to the floor as the shelf rocked back and forth.

There were two distinct, heavy thumps as the pair fell like a ton of bricks to the worn, hardwood floor. Dust rose from the floor in a yellowish cloud. Sam, as quickly and as carefully as possible, rushed to the rescue. Only to find his brother and friend lying in the most iconic romantic pose in every movie ever created.

Straddling Dean's hips, Castiel had his face smushed against the man beneath him's neck and his palms were flat on Dean's shoulders. Dean, on the other hand, had the lower half of his face smothered by black, unruly hair. One hand rested on the top of Cas' thigh while the other just barely touched his hip. 

To make the situation even more like a stereotypical romance movie, both had his eyes open and was just lifting his head up to lock gazes in surprise. A bright flash illuminated the room for a split second. All three men glanced at Charlie. She grinned at her cellphone and looked down at the two on the floor.

“Charlie, delete that now,” Dean warned. Realizing how perfect the situation was, Sam peered down at his brother, catching his eye. A shit-eating grin curled up the younger brother's lips. “Blackmail can be so sweet,” he teased. A flash of fear and disbelief filled those green eyes.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Dean said. Before Dean could move, Sam took Charlie by the arm and the pair fled to the back of the store out of sight. Pinned under Castiel, Dean could do no more than watch helplessly as they ran. He groaned and his head hit the floor with a tiny thunk. He threw his arm over his eyes.

“I apologize, Dean, for falling on you,”

“It's fine, Cas. It's not like you did it on purpose,”

Cas blinked in mild confusion. Dean wasn't mad about being thrown to the floor by his body weight? Surely that must have hurt. Cas leaned back to look at Dean's face to gauge his reaction, his palms sliding from Dean's shoulders to his chest. His thighs instinctively clenched a little around Dean's hips.

Dean's arm lifted just a tad and Cas could see a bit of green peep out from underneath the tan, freckled skin. Cas' lips puffed out in a tiny pout and his forehead wrinkled as his brows furrowed. ' _Crap_ ,' Dean thought, ' _No wonder Sammy and Charlie took a picture_.' Warmth spread in a rush through Dean's pores.

“You're heavy, you know that?” he muttered as the blush crept up his neck and ears. Cas looked so offended that Dean couldn't help but huff a laugh. When the man above him moved to get up, a strong urge to tug him back down made Dean's fingers twitch. Sure, he had feelings for his best friend- didn't everybody?

But that title was just what Cas was- a friend. Dean was happy with shoving what he felt to the side for the safety of their friendship. He didn't want to lose the best friend he'd ever had over a couple of sappy chick flick emotions. Despite his inner denial, the longing clenched in Dean's chest- heavy and cutting.

Castiel couldn't understand why his heart was beating so fast in the encasement of his ribs; he had had no real exercise. Perhaps it was because of the fact that he had actually finally realized just how intimate their position was. No wonder Dean appeared uncomfortable and shifty.

Well, that hurt that hell. Cas took what obviously was rejection and rose to his feet. Guilt made a bile rise in Cas' throat as he extended his hand to help Dean up. His gaze was drawn to the flex in Dean's arm as his friend pulled himself to his feet, unaware that Dean was doing the same as Cas supported his weight.

Their eyes met when both were standing. The crescendo of different sensations threatened to overtake the men, who were so frightened of ruining their friendship by believing the other didn't feel the same. Neither understood that both would die for the other, that both knew the other better than they knew themselves, or that both felt the same familiarity as though they had known each other forever.

So many messages and feelings and secreted away ' _I love you_ 's...all were displayed in that moment of prolonged eye contact. For once, Castiel was the first to look away. “I...we should go find your brother,” he murmured. Dean's hand lifted ever so slightly, reaching out to say ' _stay_ '.

Of course, Cas didn't see the desperate gesture. He had turned away and was silently walking carefully in the direction Sam and Charlie had ran. Dean was left standing alone in that shadowy corner of the store with nothing but the aching in his heart and the punch to his gut sensation caused by Cas' actions.

**October 3** **rd** **. 7:18 am**.

Sam, Dean, Charlie, and Castiel all sat in a tense silence inside a booth at the new coffee shop. Charlie glanced from the brooding Dean to the downcast Castiel and back again. She gnawed on her lip with a worried expression. She had thought that her deletion of that perfectly timed photo would be enough to ease the troubled expressions on her friend's faces.

Apparently not. Charlie began tapping her foot against the dark brown and gold tile. The coffee shop was relatively big and smelled freaking amazing. The moment she walked in, Charlie felt like she was wrapped in an over-sized, comfy sweater. A tantalizing display case taunted her with promises of pastries, cookies, and cake pops.

A giant green chalkboard was decorated with neatly written menu items and cute illustrations of coffee mugs with steaming liquid held within their porcelain cradles. The counter sat in the middle of the shop. A metal frame hung above the circular counter in sectioned triangles.

In Charlie's opinion, it looked a bit like the game pieces from Trivial Pursuit, which she did not play when she was bored, nope. Purely hypothetical example. The chalkboard wrapped around a cylinder shaped shelving column that stood proudly in the center of the circle. The display case and counter-top were shaped like a doughnut.

The imagery made a growling noise rumble in Charlie's stomach. Sam, sitting next to her, seemed a bit startled and laughed at the flowering blush of embarrassment on Charlie's face as she realized he'd heard her. “Someone's hungry,” Dean commented in a tired, yet joking voice. Charlie kicked him under the table with a hiss for silence.

Cas smiled a little at the exchange and the mood finally lightened. Sam rolled his eyes. “Before Charlie starves to death,” he teased, earning a whine from the girl beside him, “I'll get us some coffee.” Cas reached into his trenchcoat pocket for his wallet but paused when he realized that Sam had slid out of the booth and was heading towards the counter without looking back.

Cas slumped; the one thing he had promised to do was just tossed aside like a soiled napkin. Dean and Charlie noticed his sorrowful exasperation and shared a knowing look. “Don't worry, Cas. Sam's always like that. You should know this by now,” Charlie said cheerfully. When Cas didn't respond, Charlie set a nudge of a kick at Dean's ankle.

He sent her a warning look then nonchalantly jerked his head towards the restrooms. Charlie's nose scrunched up in distaste but got up and announced that she would be back in a few minutes. Now that he was alone with Cas, Dean turned to him. They had both unintentionally sat together in the booth.

“Hey, talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?” Dean murmured. Cas closed his eyes and his thumbs tapped against the edge of the table. He wanted to tell Dean everything- what he felt for him, how useless he felt for not being able to help Sam- but he kept his mouth shut and simply shook his head.

Dean caught on to the silent message of “not now. Maybe later?” from the vibe Cas was giving off. Well, that had not gone the way Dean had hoped. Not wanting to push his friend any more, Dean reluctantly backed off. He stared at the table, his rough and callused hands clasped in front of him. He sighed; it was going to be a long, long day.

Sam stood at the counter and was looking up at the menu. “Morning, love. What can I make for you?” said the blond British cashier working the register. Sam glanced down at him with a polite smile. The man's name-tag read ' _Balthazar_ '. “I'll take four of...whatever that is,” he said gesturing to the menu.

Balthazar craned his neck to the smudged white writing on the board. He squinted and grumbled under his breath as he read what Sam was pointing to. When the man faced Sam again, he had a slightly exasperated smile on his face. “You just had to choose the most annoying to make, didn't you?” he teased.

Sam spared a chuckle, though inside he felt like crap. How was he supposed to know that ? A faint voice pipped up like a wisp of a breath in the back of his mind. _Burden_. Sam swallowed hard as a pulling sensation gripped at his throat; he was going to throw up. “Sorry about that,” he managed to choke.

Balthazar seemed puzzled by how suddenly pale the stranger in front of him appeared, but hurried off to brew Sam's order. Sam clutched at the counter, trying to focus on breathing. The buzzing feeling in his head was beginning to grow. The realization of what was happening hit Sam like a punch to the gut; he was going to have another attack.

He was just about to collapse over the counter when there was the sudden warmth of touch on his right hand. “Are you alright?” Calm set over Sam's nerves in a wave. Almost delirious with shock, Sam looked up at who had spoken before. “Sir?” the man questioned.

Sam's mouth dropped open. The man behind the counter- the one who had spoken and currently was covering Sam's hand with his own- grinned with delight. “Hey! You're one of my neighbors,” he said in recognition. Standing in his uniform with his blond hair covered with a green hat that matched his shirt, was Nick.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is something that I may not want but may need to hear. If you have any comments or questions about what's going on, if I was unclear about anything, please let me know. I should have the third chapter up sooner or later, depending on whether y'all want it or not.


	3. Benefit Of The Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pray this doesn't disappoint anyone. I really appreciate the comments; they helped a lot with motivation. While I feel this chapter might run on a bit, it is relevant to the plot, I promise.

“Nick?”

The name came out of Sam's mouth like a cough. The blond man's face contorted into an expression of amusement and slyness. “In the flesh,” he said like he was telling some dark secret that only Sam was to know about. Nick leaned forward to emphasize the dramatic statement, leaving him a few inches from Sam's nose. A heavy sensation of discomfort blanketed over Sam in a wave. He really did not like having people so close to him.

“What brings you here?” his neighbor asked, ignoring how Sam slightly pulled back. Since Nick obviously wasn't getting Sam's subtle hints to back off, the taller of the two straightened up stiffly. This forced Nick to lean away from the counter with a pout of disappointment. Relieved, Sam gestured to the menu board. “Just getting some coffee,” he said simply. Nick's lips curled up into what resembled a cat-like grin.

“Didn't expect you to be a coffee drinker. You look more like a tea person,” he said. A tiny twisting feeling gripped at Sam's stomach. Which was odd in Sam's opinion because Nick's comment had been perfectly normal. That in mind, Sam chose to ignore it. He would later learn to regret revealing that tidbit of info. With Nick staring at him expectantly, he cleared his throat.

Then he shrugged his shoulders feigning nonchalance. “I can give or take tea. I really just like the feeling caffeine gives me,” he found himself saying. As Nick flicked his brows up in interest, Sam was trying to reign in his bewilderment; that had been a rather personal answer. Normally, Sam wasn't so open with people he'd just met. What made Nick so different?

“You're a bit picky about things you drink, aren't you? Which can be rational in some cases, but in others, well, it can be downright rude,” Nick commented in a somewhat off putting dreamy tone. There was a small rubbing sensation on his hand, making Sam glance down with a startled frown. Nick's hand still covered the top of Sam's hand and his thumb was absentmindedly tracing circles over the skin of his wrist. “Um,” Sam hummed. Nick's face fell in confusion and he followed Sam's gaze.

He immediately jerked his hand away. An embarrassed flush darkened his pale cheeks with red. “Oh. That must have been awkward. I forgot I had my hand there,” Nick mumbled. Sam slowly slid his own hand away and tucked it in his jacket pocket. While he felt a tiny shard of guilt towards his neighbor's unsettlement, he also was a bit wary now; Nick hadn't apologized for his touchy feely behavior. And he had that same strange glint in his eye from when they'd met earlier.

But before Sam could say anything regarding the situation, the British man from before- Balthazar- came bustling over with four cups of steaming liquid. His mouth was turned down in a sour twist. He very blatantly nudged Nick out of his way, earning a glare that he ignored. “Four cups of the hardest bloody drink to make in this joint,” Balthazar said breathlessly, “Anything else to add to the order?”

While Balthazar wasn't entirely snappish with his statement, Sam still internally flinched; he had briefly forgotten what he'd ordered. Nick noticed Sam's chagrin and shoved Balthazar hard on the shoulder to catch the barista's attention. “What's wrong? Can't handle actually working?” he sneered. The look of absolute annoyance on the other man's face almost masked the flash of anger in his eyes.

“You do realize how strenuous that drink is to make? He ordered four cups of half caffeine quad venti, each with one pump mocha, one pump frap base, one pump white mocha. Not to mention that includes half crosshatch caramel, plus half crosshatch hazelnut, Italian drizzle swirl, half soy, and half breve. They're all extra hot with no foam, whipped cream with half of the bloody shots upside down and two scoops of vanilla bean powder. So excuse me if I'm a bit ruffled,” the barista hissed.

Other customers began to turn their heads curiously in their direction. Sam scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck as he desperately avoided eye contact. A few people began to whisper, sending accusing glares in Sam's direction. _Look at the mess you've created._ Those damn voices...no, they were wrong- it wasn't Sam's fault. How could he have known what went into that order; he had just chosen something randomly off the menu, after all. All he had wanted was to get something quick so he could return to his friends without drawing too much attention to himself. And now he not only pissed off Balthazar, who was merely doing his job, but he had also grabbed the attention of the majority of lingering customers.

' _It's too early for this crap,_ ' Sam's subconscious whined. Every pore in his skin was prickling with misery. His body felt cold and hot all at the same time and beads of sweat formed on his hairline. But he wasn't as bad as Balthazar- poor guy looked like he'd just swallowed a cactus. ' _Jeez, that poor man. This is all my fault_ ,' Sam thought. He was sick with embarrassment and could feel the stares of the people around him burning into the back of his head. Oh God, this just couldn't get any worse.

“Uh, look, I'm really sorry for-,”

“Watch your tone,”

Sam and Balthazar both looked at Nick with twin expressions of alarm. The once sassy, impish man had shifted into something ominous and petrifying. The whole atmosphere changed drastically as Sam's neighbor and the British barista locked eyes in a stare-down. Nick's face was completely serious and he projected a dangerously deadly aura about him. The way his head was tilted slightly downwards added to the fearsome effect.

At first, Sam thought that Nick was addressing him, but when he examined closer, Balthazar was clearly the man's focus. Nick tilted his head in such a way that resembled a darkly amused predator playing with stubborn prey. The barista stiffened and lifted his chin defiantly. Though he could not see Nick's expression that well, Sam could see the brief flash of fear in Balthazar's eyes before the emotion was masked with cold contempt. Nick stepped forward thus adding a more intimidating factor to his stance.

“Move,” he growled, “And next time I catch you being rude to Mr. Winchester, I'll make sure you regret it.” The British barista paled and grumpily scoffed. He gave Nick a look that questioned whether or not the man was being serious. When the manager stood his ground, Balthazar shoved away from the counter and, with one last icy glare at Nick, vanished around the other side of the display pole.

Nick's menacing ferocity remained until he turned back to Sam with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that, Sam. I promise he'll keep his mouth shut next time,” he said. Sam stared at him like a rabbit would when facing a fox. Chills shivered up and down his spine and he was drenched in cold sweat; Nick was terrifying. For that one millisecond before Nick turned to face him, Sam could see why Balthazar was scared shitless.

It was all in the eyes...those expressionless, glass-like eyes. His gaze had been reptilian- or almost as though it was soulless...like stone. It was like looking into the eyes of a horrifyingly realistic marble statue with blue irises that darkened to nearly an onyx shade. But that wasn't the worst part; no, what really shook Sam to his core- what made the very blood in his veins turn as cold as ice- was that Nick hadn't been looking at Balthazar as one human being to another. Rather, he regarded the other man in a cold assessment that had deduced Balthazar as nothing more than an object for Nick to use- or perhaps manipulate was a better word choice?

“Do you want anything else to go with the coffee? We just added pie to our menu,” Nick suggested brightly, “I'm sure your older brother would enjoy some. He's been eyeing the display case since you got here.” Dazed and confused, Sam nodded distractedly; he was still shaken by what he'd seen. Nick perked up happily and bent down to the dessert case beneath the register. Sam glanced at the top of his neighbor's head, zoning out.

“What flavor?”

“Apple,”

He answered without thinking. That whole conversation between Nick and Balthazar had been so bizarre that it kept playing over and over in Sam's mind. It really hadn't been that big of a deal, so why had Nick gotten so upset? And to have reacted so...scarily. It made no plausible sense in Sam's mind.

The tight cluster of warning nerves that sat in the small crevice just below his sternum blared a stomach dropping alarm to his mind. Only this time, Sam paid attention to it. ' _It had been more than the desire to manipulate Balthazar_ ,' Sam mused, ' _Nick wanted to destroy him right then and there_.' Oh, come on. Surely, that was just an overreaction. Still, the feeling remained...something was definitely wrong here. He just couldn't pinpoint exactly what just yet.

_Bam_! Sam jerked violently out of his own little world he'd been drawn into at the slap of the tin casing of the pie as it hit the speckled granite counter-top. The tantalizing scent of freshly baked cinnamon and honey glaze wafted up from the steaming pastry. The delicious sight made Sam forget that he'd been scaring himself earlier with such terror inducing imagery.

Nick smiled at Sam from behind the cash register and pointed at the coffee and pie. “That all? I can get you whatever you want,” he asked. The note of dripping pleasantness in the coffeehouse manager's voice resurfaced the bout of suspicion. Sam's brows furrowed; one moment Nick had been scary and death warranting, but now he was sweet and loquacious.

Sam just couldn't wrap his head around the situation. But perhaps he was reading too much into things. His awful trust issues reared their ugly heads again- that must be it. He tapped his blunt nails in a rhythmic motion as his mind zoned out. “Did you hear me? Hello?” Nick said suddenly, snapping his fingers in front of Sam's face. The gesture was sharp and vehement, like the silence from the other man had agitated Nick's patience.

Sam sucked in a startled breath and zeroed in on his neighbor. Once his mind caught up with him, he mutely shook his head in response. Nick placed the cups onto a round black tray and put the pie next to them. When Sam pulled out his wallet, Nick clicked his tongue and held up a hand. “It's on the house, Sam,” he said. Okay, if Sam wasn't already creeped out by this guy, he sure as hell was 100% now.

“Why?” he asked a bit defensively. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Nick shook his head with a determined line to his mouth. Sam did not like how smarmy the man was acting. It was seriously odd. Sam held onto his wallet stubbornly, his fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes in the leather. Maybe Dean had been right after all. Maybe...

“As compensation for my employee's discourteous manner, your order is free of charge. Think of it as an apology. I wish I could do more,” Nick said. Sam's shoulders slumped in shame; he'd been wrong. Every thought leading up to this point washed away like tainted water down a drain. His neighbor was only doing his job as a manager and was taking responsibility for one of his employees. The anger must have been drawn from Nick's embarrassment from Balthazar's attitude. Man, did Sam feel like an asshole now.

But Sam didn't blame Balthazar for being rude. Hell, he believed he deserved worse than a slightly snappish reply from the sassy barista. Considering how tired and frustrated the guy obviously had been for making not one but four of a time consuming drink, Balthazar still was professional. He really did not deserve to be dismissed in such a manner.

“Hey, you know, you should be nicer to Balthazar,” Sam began, “He did the best he could. I wouldn't have ordered such a difficult drink if I had known how much effort went into making it. Cut him some slack.” He saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and somehow knew that it was Balthazar dipping back around the corner...listening in.

Nick's face scrunched in distaste, but he was also thoughtful. His eyes flicked to the ceiling and he tapped at his chin with the tips of his fingers. “I suppose I could show him mercy. Hmm. I guess I'll have to trust your judgment, Sam,” he said with a wink. Sam watched Balthazar relax then disappear again. But he didn't focus on the British barista long for he had a sudden chilling realization.

“How...how do you know my name?”

“Pardon?”

“My name. You've said it at least four times. I don't recall ever telling you that my name is Sam Winchester,”

Nick stared at him with a blank expression. The air thickened and seemed to close the two up into a smothering cloud of foreboding. Discomfort sprung up and flooded through Sam like a burst pipe. As the silence dragged on, Sam found himself tensing up again. He was about to start bristling and call Nick out on his strange behavior when his neighbor pointed to Sam's chest- or rather...pointed to the shiny name tag that said Sam's name in clear laminated black lettering.

Sam blanched and his stomach lurched. Could you vomit from over embarrassment? Sam sincerely hoped not. He opened his mouth to apologize on instinct. Nick stopped him with a wry smirk. “Do all your neighbors receive an interrogation?” he teased. Sam huffed a laugh and scratched at the back of his neck, embarrassed. He really wasn't making a great second impression. Not at all.

“Still need help with your furniture?” he asked. Hopefully Sam would be able to make it up to this potential friend by at least living up to his promise. The amusement in Nick's eyes reached his mouth and he smiled brightly. “Of course. Strong handsome guy like you can get my stuff up to my apartment in no time,” he said with another charming wink.

Was that...was Nick flirting? A heated blush warmed Sam's ears but it wasn't one of shyness; it was of discomposure. As much as Sam wanted to be neighborly and friendly towards this man, he just couldn't ignore that look in Nick's eyes. “I, uh, I'd better go. Coffee is gonna get cold,” Sam murmured, picking up the tray. Nick seemed severely disappointed by Sam's response. Judging from the kicked puppy look he sported, at least. When he began to walk back to the booth, Sam could feel Nick's eyes on him.

He reached the table and, as he set down the tray, Sam glanced back over in Nick's direction. There was that predatory look again. Sam was trapped in that gaze, unable to escape the scopophiliac stare. They maintained eye contact for a few more seconds- intense blue to bemused hazel- then Nick directed his attention elsewhere as another customer approached the register. Sam gushed out a sigh and sank down beside Charlie. His legs were beginning to feel like wet spaghetti so sitting on the soft gold colored booth seat was a relief of its own.

However, no one seemed to notice Sam's uneasiness. Dean was, of course, digging into a big slice of pie already. Castiel had carefully taken one of the warm cups from the tray and was holding it in his hands. His long, slender fingers wrapped around the white mug with a certain grace. He smiled at Sam in thanks, not noticing how false Sam's returned grin was. Charlie was eagerly helping herself to a slice of pie and accidentally spilled a bit of cream on her shirt.

“Great,” she groan, dragging out the word. There was a brief pause followed by a curious tiny hum. Sam glanced at her and found her looking right at him with an odd expression. Cas had a similar expression at first, but his attention was drawn to Dean, who was munching on a bite of pie with gusto. His friend's face softened in an expression of mild amusement and exasperation as he watched Sam's brother eat.

And, holy crap, did he look in love. His blue eyes were soft and sparkled with affection. His mouth lifted into a gentle half smile that could hardly be noticed at first glance- except by those who knew what to look for. And Sam knew better than anyone what that smile meant; it was a secret ' _I love you_ '. Sam himself had made such a smile at one point. A nostalgic ache gnawed at his heart; the last time he'd smiled like that at someone...Jess had been alive.

When his heart ached, a bitter snort worked its way out of Sam. Funny...he thought that he was over what had happened. She was dead. There was nothing he could do about it and he knew it. He knew and yet...it remained in the back of his mind constantly.

Charlie, having been ignored, huffily followed Sam's eyes. Her brows flicked up to her hairline and her mouth opened in a small sort of ' _oh_ '. She took one look at Sam's downcast expression and slid her hand under the table and grabbed his much larger hand. When Sam jumped in surprise, Charlie squeezed in what she hoped to be a comforting manner. Sam practically melted with affection and bumped shoulders softly with the red head.

“Thanks,” he whispered. Charlie beamed a smile, released Sam's hand, then calmly sipped her coffee. Her lashes fluttered shut and she made a hum of appreciation. “This is freaking delicious,” she said. Dean ' _mhmm_ 'ed in agreement.

“Glad you like it. Apparently, it is extremely annoying to make,” Sam said, taking a sip from his own cup. He licked his lips with his own hum of approval; it really was good. The hot coffee washed over his tongue and down his throat like a smooth, creamy river. The taste of the caramel and hazelnut took away the bad flavor in his mouth from earlier. Closing his eyes, Sam relished the buzzing of the tingling caffeine as it worked its way slowly into his sleep deprived system.

“What happened up there?” Cas asked curiously. Dean and Charlie both looked at Sam with the same curiosity. Part of Sam really didn't want to say anything, but that pleading looks on his friends' and brother's faces were too much for his self-restraint. Oh well. Might as well give them what they wanted. But as Sam told the story of what had occurred, the expressions on his friends' and brother's faces gradually went from intrigued to mildly freaked out.

“That creep from the building is the manager?” Dean said sounding completely appalled. His nose was crinkled in disgust and he even pushed his plate away. Castiel shifted in his seat with a squinted glance towards the counter as though looking for this Nick character they'd met that morning. Charlie cleared her throat and took an awkward sip of her coffee; she had no clue who the hell the boys were talking about so she decided that silence was golden in her case. Sam's eyes flicked from person to person in confusion.

“I don't think-,” he began, but Charlie cut him off with a firm look. When Charlie was serious about something, it meant to stop and listen. “We're not labeling him as a creep yet,” she said with a sharp look at Dean, “But from what you've told us, he does seem a bit...what's the word I'm looking for?”

She frowned and waved her hand around as she searched for the right adjective. Dean took another angry bite of his pie from the plate he'd pushed away, disgruntled by being scolded by Charlie. Cas perked up a bit. “Sketchy?” he offered. Sam, Dean, and Charlie all couldn't help but smile; he seemed so proud to know some lingo.

“Yeah, that'll work. He's sketchy, Sam. And too friendly. Like a sycophant,” Charlie continued. Sam raised his eyebrow at the word. Dean quickly swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It means he's a kiss ass. He wants something from you. It's like Renfield from _Dracula_ ,” he said.

A disapproving frown turned down the corner's of Sam's mouth; surely comparing Nick to a psychopathic vampire servant was a bit much. Dean noticed his brother's frown and pointed his fork at Sam and Charlie. “Or for you Harry Potter nerds,” he said with a smug smirk, “He's like Peter Pettigrew.”

Before Charlie and Sam could come up with a reply, Cas chimed in. “Dean, wouldn't that make you a so-called Harry Potter nerd for knowing the reference?” he questioned. Sam burst out laughing as Dean went beat red as he spluttered out a lame response. Charlie reached across the table and gave Cas a high-five, which the man returned with a confused smile.

Dean scowled and chugged the rest of his coffee. When he set the cup back down, a thick white cream mustache clung to his upper lip. Sam doubled over, trying to stifle his laughter. Charlie hid her giggles behind her hand. Castiel- sweet precious Cas- took one look at Dean's lip and did nothing to hide the ear-to-ear grin that wrinkled up his face.

Dean glanced from Sam to Charlie to Cas then back again. “Something funny?” he asked. Sam bit the inside of his cheek but it was of no avail. Bursts of laughter escaped from his not-so-tightly shut lips. Charlie finished off her drink and had to clamp a hand over her mouth and nose to keep from snorting it out. Cas picked up a napkin and, as Dean turned to him, carefully wiped the cream away.

Which was the cutest thing ever for Sam and Charlie to witness. “You had coffee under your nose,” Cas explained in a voice laced with pure mirth. Dean, who had been steadily growing redder and redder, snatched the napkin from Cas' fingers and turned away, dabbing at the remaining cream on his upper lip. “What is this? Joke on Dean Day?” he muttered grumpily, “I don't remember signing up for this.” Charlie laughed so hard that she feared coffee would come out of her nose.

“Okay, okay. On a more serious note, comparing Nick to those characters is a bit dramatic, don't you think? I mean, both of them only served their masters because they wanted something from them. Renfield wanted the immortality that Dracula promised him and Pettigrew was terrified of Voldemort. And sycophants usually go for someone with wealth or power. What could Nick possibly want from me?” Sam pointed out. He felt quite proud of the mildly impressed expressions on his brother and Charlie's face. A bit smug, Sam lifted his mug of coffee to his lips and took a nice big gulp.

“Maybe he likes your ass,”

“BLEURGH-!”

It was in that moment that Sam forgot that one could not breathe while drinking and proceeded to choke painfully on the torrent of lukewarm liquid entering his lungs. Castiel, who had been the one to make the not-so-innocent comment, grabbed at Sam's teetering coffee mug and set it carefully in a safer area on the table. Charlie snorted with laughter as she tried to pull the napkins out of the dispenser. Dean was on his feet and was patting Sam on the back. Everyone in the cafe was staring at them- some in concern, others with a ' _what the fuck_ ' expression.

Not able to bear more embarrassment, Sam shoved away from the table and, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, he hurried as fast as he could to the restrooms. Dean wanted to follow, but something in his gut told him to let Sammy be. For now, at least. He kept his eyes on the bathrooms as he slid into the booth next to Charlie. His brows knitted in concern and worry. “Holy crap, Cas, where did that come from?” Charlie cackled. Dean glanced over at Castiel, ready to really lay into him for making Sam nearly cough out his lungs.

But the look on Cas' face killed the words hovering on his tongue. The raven-haired man looked so confused and guilty and just completely apologetic that Dean couldn't be angry at him for long. “It..it wasn't my intention for that to happen. I was trying to make a joke,” he said quietly. He stared down at his lap, his shoulders hunched, and heaved a heavy sigh. Dean awkwardly opened his mouth to try and say some words of comfort to his best friend, but nothing came out. Then again, words really weren't his thing.

Charlie rolled her eyes at Dean and reached across the table to place her hand on Castiel's arm. The man barely glanced up at her. ' _Christ, he's like one of those kids that broke a flower vase_ ,' Dean thought. An image of young downcast Castiel standing in the middle of broken green glass with an overcasting shadow of a parent looming over him about to scold him for his wrongdoings jumped into Dean's mind. His jaw clenched involuntarily; he did not like that image. Not at all.

“Don't worry about it, Cas. It happens to everybody,” Charlie said soothingly, “Besides, I thought it was pretty damn funny.” Castiel looked over at Dean with a slightly hopeful expression. Now Dean knew that it wasn't Cas' fault that Sam inhaled his coffee. So he really couldn't blame his best friend for that. Dean spared a half grin. “Didn't know you liked jokes, Cas,” he said. Castiel shifted in his seat with a shy, sort of hesitant grin of his own.

“I've been studying up on them recently. I like the ones that I find on the internet the most,” he mumbled. Charlie sat up quicker than a meerkat searching for hyenas. Her eyes were huge and a horrified look paled her face. “Wait, Cas..you go on the internet?” she said. Dean frowned at her, not quite understanding what was so bad about that. Judging from Cas' twin frown, he felt the same. Charlie hung her head in her hands, her long red hair spilling forward. “Sweet precious child, no,” she muttered under her breath.

Charlie suddenly slapped both hands on the table, startling both Castiel and Dean to the point of jumping, and fixed the man across from her with a fiery gaze. “You look up jokes on Google, right? Please tell me that's where you find them,” she said seriously. Cas seemed a bit freaked out but nodded. Charlie tapped her fingers in a random rhythm on the table with a pondering frown. After a few minutes, she looked at Castiel again. “Don't go on any other site. Trust me. It's full of corruption and you'd never make it,” she warned, “And be careful what you search!”

Cas raised his eyebrows and lifted his hands a little in surrender. It seemed like the best response to Charlie's intense reaction. She seemed satisfied and leaned back again. “Do you think...do you think that Sam is alright?” Cas asked. Dean tore his wide eyes from the red-head beside him and shrugged in response to the question. The table descended into silence afterwards- not an uncomfortable one but not completely comfy either.

Meanwhile, Sam had finished his coughing fit in the men's room. And, boy, was he in pain. Every muscle in his abdomen screamed and his lungs felt like squashed jellyfish. Sticky tears clung to his cheeks and burned the ducts and corners of his eyes. His throat felt like it'd had a cheese grater scrape along it. Or maybe sandpaper. A hysterical part of his brain pipped up about how he must have lost about ten pounds from coughing alone. Yeah. Sam had an interesting sense of humor.

Not that it would help him in this situation. His legs trembling like gelatin, Sam pushed himself to his feet using the toilet he'd been hovering over. You know, just in case the coffee had decided to come back up when his lungs were trying to claw out of his throat. “Ugh. I'm dying, I'm dying. No. Wait. Am I good? Okay, great,” Sam groaned to himself as he stumbled from the stall. He lurched to the right and grabbed the side of the stall in a white-knuckling grip. Dizziness tore through his sense of equilibrium and forced Sam to remain still until it passed.

And, although he was no longer coughing, the threat of another heave lingered at the base of his throat and down in the inner depths of his chest cavity. To make matters worse, the caffeine from the drink hadn't given Sam as much energy as he'd hoped for. His eyelids kept drooping and deep, jaw-stretching yawns kept randomly striking. He also didn't even get to work yet; it was only **7:37 am**. They opened shop completely at 8:00. A great day he was having, that's for sure.

Frustrated, Sam slowly lumbered over to the sink and splashed some water on his face. Which, of course, was way too cold and nearly made Sam go into shock as he spluttered and quickly turned off the tap. The only sounds in the restroom that remained were the last tiny droplets of liquid hitting the drain. Sam stood in front of the mirror with a hand on either side of the sink. The hair around his face dripped with moisture and occasionally sent drops of icy H2O down his cheeks and neck. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh; he was really starting to hate today.

The quiet of the bathroom was abruptly interrupted by the rumbling of the air conditioner. Great. Now Sam couldn't even savor the silence. Tearing about ten paper towels from the crankable dispenser, Sam grumpily patted his face dry. The large green door behind him then opened, making Sam jump a few feet. In came the blond barista from before with a cart of cleaning supplies.

“...going to tear his head from his shoulders if he orders me to do one more damn thing- oh,” Balthazar grumbled, pausing when he noticed Sam. Awkwardness filled the air like a bad fart. Sam shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. He looked everywhere but at the British man a few feet in front of him. Balthazar regarded him with a cool yet curious look. He appeared to be waiting for Sam to say something. Of course he was. Cause why not?

Sam fought the urge to shove Balthazar out of the way and sprint for the exit. Balthazar lifted an eyebrow. “Uh, listen,” Sam blurted, “I wanted to...to say that I'm sorry for making you go through all of that just for the sake of making some stupid drink. I didn't even really know what I was ordering, anyway. I just chose something at random. If I knew that it would cause all of that, I wouldn't have ordered it.” He realized he was babbling and snapped his mouth shut.

Balthazar didn't speak. He seemed surprised by Sam's outburst, like he'd been expecting something else. His surprise morphed into an expression of dry amusement and thoughtfulness. Sam's heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest and trickles of sweat ran down his back; why wasn't Balthazar saying anything? Thankfully, before Sam could freak out anymore, Balthazar quirked the corner of his mouth up just a tad- the indication of a smile. “Well,” he sighed, “I appreciate the apology. You're not a total muppet, I suppose.”

Sam took that as a compliment and, before the conversation could advance any further, clumsily maneuvered around the cleaning cart to get to the door. Sam had the door open and had a foot mid-step intending to leave when Balthazar stopped him. “You're Sam, right?” he asked. Being the eccentric guy that he was, Sam thumbed his name-tag with a dorky grin. Balthazar let out a bark of a laugh that sent the heavy feeling of guilt flying from Sam's chest. “You own that cute shop across the street, yes?” he asked, “Antiques. I might have to pop by someday. What do you say?”

Sam blinked a few times as his brain caught up with Balthazar's meaning. “Y-yeah. Yeah! Yes! Please come by. Look for something you'd like,” he said. Alright! New customer. There's something positive for the day. Balthazar smirked flirtatiously and trailed his shining blue eyes down Sam's figure. “That shouldn't be too hard,” he purred. Oh. _Oh_. Red painted Sam's ears and cheeks with a flaming blush. “Okay. I'm just gonna- just gonna go. Um, see you later, Balthazar,” Sam stammered as he fled the restroom. He heard a returned, “Later indeed, love,” then the door shut.

Sam stood still. First it was Nick flirting with him and now the damn barista. What was it about him today that made him so attractive to these people? He looked down at himself. All he was wearing was his brown carhartt hooded jacket and his jeans. Nothing special. Could it be the plaid? Sam rolled his eyes at himself. There must have been something in that coffee to make him this loopy.

Shaking his head, he started for the table. Charlie saw him coming and waved him over. “Hey, Sam. How you feeling?” she asked. Sam gave her a thumbs up as his answer. She smiled softly in relief. There was something off about her expression. She seemed...distressed. But she was giving her best to hide it. “So, uh, Mayor Braeden came by. She said she has to speak with you. It's urgent,” she said. Her demeanor was cheerful, but her eyes were dark with worry. Dread knotted in the pit of Sam's stomach; not Charlie, too.

“Um, okay. Where did they run off to?” Sam said as he noticed that the other side of the booth was empty. Charlie jerked her head towards the window, indicating that the pair had returned to the shop. Sam resisted sighing. Charlie stood and adjusted her gray t-shirt with her game store logo on the front: _Banishing Oz Studios_. Charlie enjoyed pronouncing the initials for her store like the word ' _boss_ '. “Well, I should get to work. Those new games I got in are going to sell like crazy!” she chirped.

Nodding in agreement, Sam quickly helped Charlie shove all the cups and plates into a neat pile for the busboy. He slipped a five dollar bill under a plate as a tip and left the coffee shop with his red-headed friend trailing behind him. “Hey, Charlie?” When the girl looked up at him, Sam found himself even more befuddled. “I've got a question for you,” he said. Charlie eagerly gave him her attention.

“What the hell is a muppet?”

**October 3 rd. 7:30 pm.**

The sun had long sank into the horizon while Sam and Dean sat around the cash register, bored half out of their minds. The day had been as slow as molasses. The only interesting thing that had happened since their breakfast at the _Hell's Java Cafe_ , which was the name of the coffee place across the street, was when the Mayor came by the antique shop.

It had been around lunchtime when Lisa- or rather Mayor Braeden- showed up. Sam had overheard Dean greeting the woman charmingly and had rushed from the back of the store. Lisa was relieved to see Sam and politely excused herself from Dean's obvious flirtations. It was playful flirting, much like one would do in the presence of a very good friend. He meant nothing by it; the two had been a thing in the past, but they had still remained friends after the breakup.

“How are you, Sam?” Lisa had asked once she and Sam were alone. He had been taken aback by the question and had shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty good. Not complaining. How are you, Mayor Braeden?” he'd asked politely. The automatic reply rolled off his tongue so smoothly, it was actually kinda pathetic; he was so used to lying that he did it without thinking.

Lisa slumped and had sat down on a nearby box. Her snazzy dark blue suit had rumpled a little in the skirt. She'd rested her elbows on her stocking-clad knees. Her head fell into her hands, her dark hair spilling over them like a silky curtain. “Please. Call me Lisa. I'm not too good, Sam. Everything is in chaos,” she had mumbled.

Sam stood awkwardly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. He eventually sat down opposite of the Mayor on a somewhat flimsy box, which sank under his weight. “What's, uh, what's been going on?” Sam had asked. He and Lisa were barely acquaintances and truly only knew each other because of Dean. Because of this, he'd felt a bit uncomfortable and startled with the fact that Lisa went to him instead of his older brother.

But, at the same time, he understood her reasoning; Dean tended to overreact to things, especially when it came to Lisa and her son Ben's safety. “The real question is what hasn't been going on,” she'd cried, “Everywhere I turn, someone else is petrified that this Lucifer character is going to sneak up on them and kill them like Jack the Ripper.”

The Mayor had sat up then, her face drawn with stress and exasperation. “They come to me for help, but what the hell am I supposed to tell them? I'll chase away the big baddie with, what, a speech?” Lisa had been close to crying from frustration. He'd never been good with women crying so he did the only thing he knew how to do; Sam had reached out a hand and put it on her knee in what he'd hoped to be a comforting manner.

It had worked judging from the slightly tearful smile Lisa had sent him. Her sigh still rang in Sam's ears. It'd been so full of defeat. “I'm scared, too, you know? Hell, I'm scared shitless. I don't even want Ben going out anymore because I have no clue what could happen. That's why I came to you,” she'd continued. Sam'd blinked in surprise. What was he supposed to do?

“Please, Sam. Everyone knows you and your brother. And that weird little trench coat wearing guy,” Lisa had said waving her hand, “If you could just..just give them some sense of hope. Say something...something to persuade them that everything will be alright. People trust you. I know this is a little out-of-the-blue, but I'd really appreciate it.” Now Sam gnawed at his thumbnail, wondering why he had agreed to the relieved Mayor's request.

It wasn't like he could do anything. He was only an antique shop owner. Maybe if he were some sort of hunter he could have some affect on the people's fragile mindsets. No other customers except for the usual three regulars had come in that day and even they were quick to leave. So much for being inspiring. Then again, if what Lisa said was true, then the trio were really the best for the job. Sam let out a frustrated grumble and ran his hand through his hair.

“So, what'd you and Lisa talk about?” Dean asked nonchalantly. Oh, boy, here we go again. Sam's bitch-face remained neutral and was kept at bay with great restraint on Sam's part. “I already told you. She's feeling overwhelmed with the whole murderer-on-the-loose thing and asked us to try and ease the customers minds. That's all,” Sam said.

Dean did not seem convinced. He sniffed and looked away in an almost haughty manner. “Why'd she talk to you and not me is what I wanna know,” he whined. Sam rolled his head back and his eyes glanced skywards. A massive sigh burst from his chest. “I don't know, Dean. Maybe it's cause of your history together,” he said, “And cause you like to make things into a bigger deal than they already are.”

Dean sat up from where he'd been lounging on the counter. His face was tight with annoyance. Sam continued to stare at the ceiling, already knowing what his brother was about to say. “The hell is that supposed to mean? We ended things pretty rocky, sure, but there's nothing about our history that would make her not want to talk to me,” he snapped, “And I don't overreact either!”

Sam rolled his head back down and looked at Dean pointedly, his bitch-face on full blast. Dean's jaw clenched and he took a step forward, eyes blazing angrily. Castiel, who had been checking inventory in the back, leaned against the doorway to the backroom, his face stone serious. “If you say ' _I told you so_ ', I swear to God I'm going to start swinging!” Dean yelled.

Sam took a step forward, too. While Dean himself was relatively tall, Sam still towered over him, which pissed off the eldest brother even more. Sam scoffed. He wasn't going to back down to a challenge, especially one issued by his older brother. Authority wasn't his foreplay and it never would be. “You're just mad, Dean, because I'm right,” he said. Dean's fist connected with Sam's jaw with what felt like the force of a wrecking ball.

Pain exploded through Sam's face and he instantly retaliated by punching Dean in the nose. Blood spurted from Dean's nostrils and splattered across his cheek. Dean clenched his teeth visibly, curled his lip, and set his fiery gaze on Sam. But before he could even raise his fist, Castiel shoved himself between them and separated the brothers with a hand to their chests.

“That's enough!” he growled. He pushed Dean backwards and then Sam. Both men stumbled; Cas was stronger than he appeared. He was also a force to be reckoned with. And right now he was pissed. “The day is not over yet. We still have responsibilities to take care of. So, I need both of you to, as you say, stow your crap. Can you do that?” he barked.

At that moment, there was the whimsical sound of a bell as the door opened. An elderly woman with a middle-age woman walked through. She spoke softly to the younger woman and didn't notice the three men at the back of the store. Sam and Dean both cradled their wounded faces with twin looks of shame and reminiscent anger. Castiel took a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a huff. “Sam, if your jaw isn't broken, watch the register. Dean, we need to get you cleaned up. The customers can't see you like this,” he whispered firmly. Dean glared at him defiantly.

“I'm fine,” he said nasally. But when his hand came away, it was covered in sticky red blood. Cas simply looked at Dean with a somewhat sassy expression that said “See? What did I tell you?”. Sam felt the joints in his jaw creak painfully as he rotated it. A massive red mark and a lot of swelling served memoirs of their fight. At least he didn't look as bad as Dean; his older brother looked like he'd just slammed his face into a wall. Sam bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn't really meant to hit Dean that hard.

However, Sam was overthinking things; Dean's nose was swollen and bleeding but not broken or fractured. But it did look pretty awful. Disgruntled, Dean allowed Cas to take him by the arm and lead him to the back of the store. His nose was bleeding faster and he tilted his head back to ease the flow. “No, don't do that. You'll drown in your own blood,” Cas said, “Pinch the bridge of your nose hard and it should quell the blood's course.”

How the hell did he know that? Dean looked at his friend dubiously, but, under the man's sharp blue gaze, he relented and pinched his nose with as much force as he could without it throbbing. Unfortunately, by pinching his nose, Dean also cut off his airflow. Which resulted in him breathing through his mouth. He cringed; he sounded like a Pug.

It didn't seem to bother his friend though. Castiel hurried into the supply closet and came out with a few tissues and some baby wipes. “Why do we even have those?” Dean asked. His voice was garbled by the blood in his mouth. As much as it disgusted him, Dean had no choice but to swallow. He shuddered; man, that was gross. He was 75% sure that his complexion had gone green.

Ignoring Dean's question, his best friend busily ripped open the pack of wipes and took one out. He eyed it distrustfully then turned to Dean. “This will be cold,” he warned. Though Dean was braced for the feeling, the cold wetness of the baby wipe on his cheek made him flinch.

Cas pulled away a little then gently placed the moist cloth against Dean's skin again. Carefully, he cleaned the drying blood from Dean's freckled cheeks and around his mouth. His blue eyes were focused and the intensity in them made Dean's breath come to a screeching halt. All at once, it hit Dean for the thousandth time just how much he cared for Cas.

His heart beat faster in his chest with such force that Dean was a bit paranoid that Castiel would hear it. His palms were clammy and his knuckles still throbbed from punching Sam. Dean rubbed them on his jeans nonchalantly. Now if Dean could just avoid looking at Cas, then he'd be okay; his secret crush wouldn't be so obvious.

He thought this and actually believed it to be true. That is..until Cas lifted his gaze from Dean's face to meet his eyes. Blue met green in a clashing bolt of electricity. “You can move your hand now, Dean,” Cas said softly. He wasn't as rough with his words as before. That only made Dean feel worse; he could take Castiel's anger and yelling. The sweet, low toned words that he murmured were one of Dean's weaknesses.

Without breaking eye contact, Dean slowly lowered his hand from his nose. Cas glanced down at Dean's lips then carefully wiped away the remaining blood. Dean grunted as his nose pulsed with pain. “You shouldn't have picked a fight with your brother, Dean,” Cas scolded. Boom! There's a guilt slam to the heart.

Dean avoided Castiel's gaze and glared at the floor. Every one was just against him today. First, he failed to notice how on edge Sam had been, he'd been laughed at and embarrassed at the coffee shop, then Lisa wouldn't talk to him, Sam was acting like a know-it-all, and now Castiel was yelling at him for expressing his anger.

“He wasn't exactly Mr. Sunshine either, you know,” Dean said. Regardless of his anger towards his younger pain-in-the-ass brother, he knew that Sam had been right; Dean did tend to overreact. He was aware of this, but it still stung to have it called out in the open like that. Dean also understood that he acted out of line and he felt like crap for it. He wasn't trying to feel sorry for himself; he hated that.

This whole day had just been a bust. Ever since this morning. Dean sighed; it wasn't always like this. They had been having a good week before. But the day wasn't over yet, which Cas had so graciously pointed out. Things might just lighten up. He internally scoffed. Yeah, right.

“You're weren't as much of a dick as you usually are,” Cas said in a casual tone. At first, Dean was annoyed until he saw the small tick of a smile on Cas' face. He was being playful. Cas was _teasing_ him. Dean raised an eyebrow and let an easy grin soften his current hard frown. “That so? Pray tell, how much of a dick am I usually?” he countered.

Cas was shy with his return smile. He took Dean's hand in his and proceeded to remove the flaking blood from the crevices of his fingers. “I don't think I should inform you of how you usually act. It can be very unpleasant at times. Like when you drool,” he said. Dean mocked offense and pointed an accusing finger at Castiel.

“That was one time and I said sorry,” he said. Cas looked up at him, trying and failing to maintain his serious expression. Dean grinned and waggled his brows at Cas suggestively. “Does this make you my own personal nurse now? Where's your uniform?” he teased. Cas scoffed and began to clean off the blood from Dean's hand.

“Hilarious,” he replied dryly. A burst of warmth filled Dean's chest. It was like sunshine was about to start pouring out of him from the inside out. “Damn right it is,” he said. Cas hummed a chuckle. Dean's heart swelled at the sound. Along with that sense of elation came the rush of fear; he needed to wrangle up his emotions or he would end up saying or doing something to ruin the moment.

While Dean fought internally to control his sappy feelings, Cas' fingers were trembling like leaves in a breeze. He hoped that Dean didn't notice. He also prayed that his heartbeat would simmer down from its gallop. It was in these moments when they were alone that Castiel and Dean both realized all over again why they loved each other. And it scared the hell out of them.

“If you two are quite finished being the lovebirds you so obviously are, it's closing time in like ten minutes,” Sam called from the front. Castiel rolled his eyes, much to Dean's amusement, and gathered up the soiled wipes along with the package of clean ones. He stood and calmly tossed out the bloodied ones. Dean hopped off of the box he'd been sitting on with his hand out to take the package from Cas, who smile gratefully.

As the three cleaned and locked up for the night, they were unaware that nearby- hiding cloaked in the shadows of the night- a figure stood alert. Balthazar finished turning the key to the coffeehouse, humming a little tune under his breath. The air was frigid enough to cause the barista's breath to be seen. The little puffs of white smoke drifted into the air as he shuddered and rubbed at his arms to warm them.

His coat- a black pea coat with red buttons- fit him snugly and heat soon spread throughout his limbs. Not that it would be of any use to him in merely a few minutes. But Balthazar was blissfully unaware of his doomed fate. To him, it was just another chilly October night. In his mind, he was to go home, have a hot bath, and drink to his heart's content. Alas, he could never have known that the Styrofoam cup of decaf coffee he'd polished off seconds before locking the door would be his last beverage.

The wind howled through the trees, making the leaves quiver and rustle loudly. The figure remained deathly silent and still where it stood outside the ring of the single flickering street lamp. It watched with intense focus as Balthazar tucked the key into his pocket and began his trudge to his car. His blond hair was ruffled by the caressing wind, mussing up the neat combed style. He walked with confidence, his head held high along with an ever present scowl put there by the weather.

There was the lamp post a few feet away and Balthazar paused in his step. Sixth sense had kicked in and it alarmed him that someone was there. Instead of being the typical horror movie twit that Balthazar despised, he did not call out to the so-called being. He did the complete opposite. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, his fingers wrapped around the base of an expensive silver dagger that he'd bought himself on a Christmas run one year. Up until this point, Balthazar had never had to use it.

Tonight was different. He gripped the handle of the dagger tightly and lurched forward to begin walking in the other direction. Unfortunately, he didn't get to take that last step. Because at that exact moment in time, the light finally went out in the lamp post and the patiently waiting killer struck. Balthazar's arms were pinned behind him and a gloved hand clamped over his mouth in a suctioning grip. Still he made an attempt to scream as he was dragged into the alleyway. The muffled, raw terrorized screams were lost to the tearing wind.

Agony tore through his legs as they were kicked out from under him. He hit the ground hard enough to send his brain rattling around in his skull like a ping pong ball. While his left arm was still pinned beneath his body, his right arm was free. Balthazar nimbly unsheathed the dagger and lashed out behind him. A pained hiss vaguely reached his ears. The knife was ripped viciously from Balthazar's grasp followed by a sickening crack as his arms were pulled out of their sockets. His scream was cut off seconds after it exploded from his throat.

A large boot was pressing full force on the back of his head, shoving his face into the dirt. A strong hand replaced the boot and something that felt like legs straddled Balthazar's torso while the sharp, cruel tip of the knife was trailed almost teasingly along his spine. Fingers seized his hair and abrasively wrenched his head back to touch his shoulders. A powerful aching pang jolted through Balthazar's throat, extinguishing his voice. The pressure against his throat also cut off the air to his windpipe. Gasping for breath, Balthazar's eyes rolled around in a panicked frenzy as he struggled to see his attacker.

“Balthazar,” the killer sneered in a velvety voice, “you have a lot of gall. Embarrassing me in front of my lovely Sam, making him feel unworthy of being served, and, to top it all off, you had the audacity to flirt with him. As if Sam would ever long for your company. Let's face it, man. You're done for. Because no one will know what happened to you. Not a soul will care.” Ice coursed in place of blood in Balthazar's veins. He didn't want to die. Sure, he would sometimes make a dark joke from time to time, but he was never serious. Death was terrifying. With this thought, his brain finally seemed to understand what was going on and his body began to thrash violently.

Nick clicked his tongue in disapproval and reached around to press the knife tip to the pale throat of the man below him. The action halted all fighting efforts and the paralysis caused by intense fear kicked in. “Hmm. Slitting your throat would be fun, but it's just so messy. I think taking it from the back would be much more acceptable, wouldn't you agree, Balthy?” Nick purred. With a powerful thrust, the silver dagger that Balthazar had intended on using to defend himself was plunged harshly into his heart.

Rapidly, Balthazar's vision began to darken. Overwhelming agony seared through every fiber in his being, but he could not cry out. All that came out was a raspy, breathless gasp. Nick stood up gracefully and flicked out his tongue. He trailed it over the cut that ran vertically along the taut skin just inches from the corner of his mouth. The metallic taste of blood coated his taste buds and he scrunched up his nose in distaste. While he enjoyed causing blood to spill, he did not particularly fancy the taste. He glared down at the quickly fading Balthazar with a disdainful expression.

“You made me bleed my own blood,” he complained. A gurgle was the response he received before that final heaving gasp escaped his lips. Nick watched with detached fascination as the deceased barista's pupils blew out to large proportions. “Sam Winchester. What I wouldn't do for you,” he hummed fondly. His heart beat like a steady drum in his chest. Unlike the poor fellow on the ground a few feet away. The thrill of the kill was starting to fade away just as quickly as Balthazar had. That was the only downside to his job. Maintaining his image as the fearsome Lucifer, mass murderer without a soul, was proving to be more tedious than he'd thought; the people he'd have to slaughter weren't enough anymore.

He needed some fresh meat or else he'd never reach that level of high when he'd first committed the deed. Oh, well. There were billions of people in the world. Surely one of the pathetic souls would serve its rightful purpose. Nick pivoted as he heard voices and slunk further into the shadows. And suddenly there he was- Sam Winchester himself. Nick held back the longing whimper hovering in the back of his throat. He watched as Sam and the other two men locked the door to their store and get into their car. Nick made sure that he was safely hidden in the darkness so he wouldn't be discovered.

As the Impala sped past, Nick caught a glimpse of that luscious brown hair then he was gone. Holding his breath, Nick hurried to his own car and threw his gloves into the compartment. He had to be fast if he was going to make it home before Sam.

Oh, just thinking his name made Nick tremble with the memoir of how close they'd been. Why, Sam had been inches away from him. He had felt that warm breath on his skin. He'd smelled the intoxicating scent of Sam's skin- it was so much better than the faint bit Nick had found in the elevator.

Those eyes, wide with a variety of emotions, looking back at him, that glorious hair sweeping just above his eyelashes, his delicately shaped lips so close to his own, the feel of his hand...Nick tossed his head back and threw his arm over his eyes.

It was a wonder that he hadn't imploded from that simple touch. That hand had been so...rough yet soft. And Nick had only experienced the top of it! He wondered what the underside must feel like. He shivered with anticipation just imagining it. If Sam's hand had felt like that, then what could the rest of his strong, tanned, muscular-

Nick jolted from his voyeur thoughts and started his car; as much as he wished to continue, he didn't have time to fantasize. As he pulled away from the parking spot, he glanced at the time. **8:13 pm**. Crap, that meant that he'd only have fifteen minutes to get to the apartment building before Sam did. He tore out of the parking lot, the wheels squealing on the asphalt.

As he roared towards the stoplight, he noticed a young woman on a moped waiting in the red glow just ahead of him. Nick switched lanes; he needed to get home fast and did not want to wait behind some stranger on a damn scooter. Unfortunately for him, she had music blasting from the radio that was loud enough to be heard through Nick's window.

Gritting his teeth, Nick gripped at the steering wheel harder as “I'm walking on sunshine! Whooaa!” hit against his eardrums. This light was taking too damn long. The woman beside him was swaying back and forth to the music with a broad, silly grin on her face. It pissed Nick off to see her so happy while he suffered.

He knew that if she was aware of what had just occurred in the alleyway, her music would be off and the world would be silent. Nick cracked his neck and reluctantly shoved away the temptation to spill his secret to the woman beside him. He wasn't that reckless. Maybe if it were Sam on that scooter. Only then would he consider it.

Seriously, how long was this light?! Nick could feel his impatience growing and his anger bubbling with each passing second. Finally, he rolled down his window and let the cool air of the night make an attempt to soothe him. However, the moment the protecting glass was lowered, the music invaded the interior of his car and beat against him like a thousand drums.

Nick growled out a harsh sigh and tapped his fingers along the steering wheel. Abruptly, the music cut off. Halle-freaking-lujah! The silence smothered the ringing in Nick's ears and he relaxed against the seat. But accompanying the sense of relief came also the peculiar prick of curiosity; why had the woman turned off her music?

He glanced over at her and found, to his great discomfort and surprise, that she was staring at him with wide eyes. “Evening.” Nick licked his lips; he'd have to be careful with his words. Even the slightest hint could give everything away. This woman had sharp, hawk-like eyes that he could tell would be able to decipher whether or not he was lying.

The red-head nodded in greeting, her mouth clamped shut. Nick forced a charming smile on his face as she continued to stare. “I know I'm a handsome devil, but surely you know that staring is rude?” he said. That seemed to break the trance that the woman had been in for she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She made a tiny snort and faced straight ahead again.

Now Nick's curiosity was fully piqued. The woman seemed annoyed with the way Nick was looking at her and swiveled her head around to stare right back at him defiantly. “Now who's being rude?” she said. Nick grinned; oh, he liked her. She was fiery and free-spirited. Something that was easy to take away when under the cool steel of a blade.

Nick played the innocent card and lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture. He halfheartedly glanced at the stoplight. It was still red. “Listen, buddy,” the woman cut in before Nick could speak, “I don't have any interest in you. So lay off.” Wait, what? Nick tilted his head in mild befuddlement.

“I'm afraid you'll need to reiterate. Who is interested in whom? If I recall correctly,” Nick began, “ _You_ were the one that I caught staring at _me_.” The woman flushed pink. She squared her shoulders and pointed to the corner of her mouth. “I was looking at the cut that you have on your mouth. I was wondering what happened. You look like you had just gotten into a fight,” she retorted.

Nick clenched his jaw and pulled down the visor to check his face in its mirror. Sure enough, his face was bloodied and the cut along his mouth was longer than he'd first expected. Huh. It seemed that Balthazar had put up quite a fight after all. He mocked a look of utter shock and peered closer at his reflection.

“Oh. I didn't realize how bad it was,” he said. The woman seemed skeptical. Hmm. Maybe he didn't like her as much as he thought. She was too suspicious. He'd have to come up with some pseudo story. Then again, he owed this woman nothing. Why should he have to explain himself?

But she was still peering at him with wary eyes, so he had no choice. “Nearby cat attacked me on the way to my car. Stupid thing was crouching on the dumpster. I think I may have startled it. Ah, but you know how cats are. Anxious creatures,” he lied. It sounded forced even to his ears, but it appeared to have convinced the red-haired female.

She nodded with what she thought was a carefully hidden sheepish look and revved the engine of her moped. “Sucks to be you, dude. Have a good night!” was all she responded with as she sped off. Taken aback, Nick sat in silence for a few seconds before he realized that the light was indeed green.

As he continued to drive, he felt a familiar creeping sensation along his spine. That woman...she had been with Sam this morning. If his memories served him right, her name was Charlie. Nick chuckled. How ironic for him to meet her. The time read **8:38pm** , but Nick wasn't paying attention; his thoughts were on the small, red-headed Charlie.

He wasn't sure which mental list he should add her to: the list of obstacles in his way to Sam or possible outlets to get to Sam. He decided on the latter; she might be of some use to him. Yes. He felt she could be just as loyal as that other fellow he'd taken advantage of. What was his name? Something with a C?

He wondered if his pathetic henchman had received his package with instructions yet. Nick grinned fiendishly; Balthazar wouldn't be the only name floating around on the lips of the citizens. That is...if that fool had followed through. But Nick wasn't worried. He shrugged and did a contented jig in his seat.

He was so looking forward to the news tomorrow. Almost as much as he was looking forward to watching Sam through his cameras. Bedtime was always the most...entertaining. After all, without his precious Jessica, Sam was lonely.

Nick smiled to himself. Killing her hadn't been anything special. He hadn't known about Sam at the time. She was just another toy that he got to break. But now...he bit his lip. It was because of him that Sam was here. That the man was so amazingly fucked up in the head.

A burst of self pride filled Nick's chest. It didn't matter if Sam rebuffed his affections- that didn't bother Nick as much as he'd originally thought. No. No, he had discovered that he liked watching those different painful emotions ripple over that cuddly face. It made him ponder how Sam would look in absolute agony.

Alas only time would tell. And Nick was an impatient man. Who knows? Maybe...just maybe he'd get up the courage to finally take Sam as his own. Maybe he would eventually have the guts to do whatever he wanted to Sam, whenever he wanted. Nick smiled. Soon was such a teasing word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to include more of Dean's music, but I'm not sure what all he listens to. Like I know that he is the classic rock king, but what else does he have in that cassette tape box of his? Also, what do you suppose is Sam's main genre? Does he even have one? Please help!


	4. One Death After Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could send out kudos to all who've read this, I would send a million.

_Plip! Plip! Plip!_

Those dripping noises had been echoing for hours now. With each drop, Sam could feel what little he had left of his sanity slipping away. It was...becoming harder to stay awake now. And his memories were like blurry photographs and broken film. Yet, he could still recall what had happened up until...until that night.

It seemed like so long ago. But, for Sam, it felt like it'd just happened. How many days had he been here? Five? A week? He'd lost count. Time ticked on in slow motion for him. Every second seemed like an hour. Every hour felt like a day. It was all so fucked up. God...Sam wished that he hadn't been so blind. He could see now that his friends were right.

They had all been right.

**October 4 th, 5:23 am**

“ _Jessica!”_

“ _Sam!”_

_Sam watched helplessly as the flames grew higher and higher. He struggled to rush forward- to save his burning girlfriend before everything exploded- but it was like trying to move through sticky sludge. Fear, strong and overwhelming, burst through his mind in a white haze._

_Sam reached out his soot covered hand towards the building. Tears streaked down his dirty face and sobs threatened to knock him off balance. “No, no, no! Jess!” he kept screaming. His throat was beyond wrecked with smoke inhalation and his rough, from the gut, pleas for help._

_The sludge feeling popped away and Sam plummeted to the ground. His teeth scraped against the ashy grass and his mouth filled with dirt and charred bits of building. Quickly, he spat it out and scrambled to his feet. Sam ran as fast as he could to the door of the building._

_But just as he wrenched it open..._ Fwooosh _!! Fire and billowing smoke rushed at his face and Sam cried out as the intense heat bowled him over. Through the roaring of the flames, the last thing Sam heard was the agonizing screams of Jessica Moore._

Sam bolted upright, his chest heaving for air. His heart thudded faster than a roadrunner and his entire body was drenched with cold sweat. His clothes and hair clung to his skin like desperate leeches. Trembling all over, Sam fumbled his hand over the nightstand and grabbed the glass of now room temperature water.

Desperately he drank, guzzling down the liquid so fast and sloppily that two streams leaked out of the corners of his mouth. His white cotton shirt that he had worn to bed was soaked all down the front. But Sam didn't notice. The dryness in the back of his mouth angrily choked him and Sam had to refrain from coughing.

Keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling, Sam slowed down a little in his drinking speed. The strangling sensation remained and now his stomach had begun to violently heave. His abdomen flexed as though he were attempting belly-dancing. The glass drained faster than Sam had thought and soon only a few drops were left.

Now that the water was gone- half of it down his throat and half down his shirt-, Sam's chest constricted tightly and his breath was punched from his lungs. A pulling, overbearing sensation yanked at the back of his esophagus, indicating that he had better get to the bathroom fast or the carpet would be stained with all sorts of fluids. His stomach gurgled in agreement.

Clamping his clammy hands over his mouth, Sam scrambled from his bed and stumbled clumsily to his bedroom door. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the shiny metal doorknob. The foreshadowing churning in his gut fueled his panic. Finally, he managed to yank the door open, but he realized that his stomach would not allow him enough time to get to the bathroom.

Slipping on the carpet, Sam made a sort of skiing motion as he sprinted over to the kitchen sink. Hot, slimy, thick vomit surged from his stomach and choked his mouth as it spewed into the sink. The water he'd drank before eased the vile taste of puke but did nothing to soothe the nauseating ache building in his abdomen and spine.

Heave after dreadful heave, Sam threw up the contents of his insides. Between the bouts of vomit, Sam gasped for air as he desperately made an attempt to breathe. His lungs were in a panic as they desperately tried to inflate and deflate normally. Hands scrabbling for purchase, Sam held on to the sink for dear life. Mercifully, the assault of burning gastric acid and food chunks eventually ceased after a few more heaves.

Sam hunched over the kitchen sink, his long floppy hair hanging in his face. One hand gripped the corner of the counter while the other held on for dear life to the faucet. His knees bent at awkward angles and the left sock on his foot had slipped off halfway. Not to mention that his already wet shirt was now covered in squishy, heavy puke bits.

His eyes fluttered shut then flew open again immediately as an image of a burning Jess filled his mind. _Your fault. All your fault_. _Die_. The voices sounded so loud in the dead silence of the apartment. Sam choked back a sob as he shakily lifted his head and turned on the water.

The tap squeaked then the sound of rushing water filled the quietude of the apartment. While Sam really did not want to drink anything, he knew that there had to at least be something in his stomach. Just in case his body decided to punish him again. Plus, the cool water could soothe the burning in his mouth and calm the gurgling in his gut.

So he drank. Not as quickly as before but with enough gusto to just barely resemble a lost deserted man discovering an oasis. Unfortunately, the inside of his mouth was drenched in leftover vomit which caused some of the water he consumed to be spat out in disgust. But he was right; the coldness of the liquid did wonders for his angry stomach.

“Sam?”

Damn it. Sam didn't need to turn around to know that he had woken his older brother from his slumber. The shard of guilt pierced hard and strong in his heart. Sam's face contorted into an expression that resembled a cringe and a wince- similar to the look on a criminal's face when they're caught red-handed.

 _Fuck up_.

' _Quiet, you_ ,' Sam growled at the hateful voice. Taking a deep breath, he slowly shifted his body so Dean could see his face. His brother rubbed at his eyes and hid a yawn behind his hand. _Stab, stab!_ went the little shard in Sammy's chest. Dean stood leaning in the entrance to the kitchen with a sleepy, concerned look on his face.

“Another dream?” he asked suddenly. Sam must have shown his surprise for Dean's lips curled up into a dry smirk. “What, you think I don't know my only brother by now? Come on, Sammy, give me some credit,” he teased in a lighthearted tone.

Sam knew what Dean was doing; he was joking around to give Sam a distraction from whatever was troubling him. Dean wanted to make all of his little brother's worries disappear by taking his mind off how bad things had been. Even if it meant faking a smile and sometimes cracking a lame joke. And, while Sam was touched by the gesture, it still made the wall in his mind go up and his words went cold.

“Alright, yeah, I had a dream. I'm fine. But that's none of your business, is it? Quit worrying so much about me and go back to bed,” he snapped. Dean tried to hide the flinch- he really did- but Sam saw it anyway. And it struck a cord deep within him. But, being the asshole he could be at times, Sam pushed passed his brother and fled into his room again.

Only when he was safe within the darkness of his room did Sam strip off his shirt and throw himself onto his bed. He allowed himself to fold into the fetal position. God, he hated being that way towards Dean. He knew that Dean was merely trying to be there for him in the best way a brother could. But Sam could see that all the worrying and fretting was taking a toll on him.

He knew more than what his brother and friends thought he did. Sam wasn't an idiot; he had eyes. Dean was exhausted with Sam's mental and emotional imbalances. Castiel and Charlie were, too. It was all in their eyes; it was in the way they looked at him when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

Pity. That was what he saw there. A whole crap ton of pity and sympathy. But Sam could hardly blame his friends and brother; if he were an outsider looking in, he'd feel sorry for himself, too. However, being on the receiving end, Sam just wanted it all to be over. No more anxiety, no more depression, no more nightmares or attacks or sickness, and most of all, no more constant guilt.

Sam leaned his head against the headboard and stared at the ceiling through the darkness. He despised being such a dick to his older brother, but it was the only way to get Dean to take care of himself for once. Sam figured that if Dean saw that he could be okay without him, then maybe his elder sibling could focus on the more important things in life. It had worked before...

Sighing, Sam turned over onto his side and snuggled down under the covers. He tugged the blanket up to his nose then restlessly turned over again to face the wall. His lids shut instinctively. In the back of his mind, Sam already knew that he wouldn't get back to sleep. It had been like this ever since his girlfriend had died.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. Sam had been engaged in a conversation with their neighbor Missouri about how she wanted to start a garden of herbs on her balcony when Dean came rushing out of the apartment. It didn't take long for Sam to figure out that something was terribly wrong. Wordlessly, Dean had handed his younger brother his cellphone and could only watch helplessly as Sam listened to the worst news of his life.

It was like his whole world had imploded in the instant Sam heard the words: “Jessica...Jess is dead, Sam. She was killed in a fire. I'm so sorry.” He could still remember the intense ringing in his ears and the feeling of absolute despair. He remembered sinking to his knees, the phone slipping from his numb fingers.

Gone. Never to speak again, never to smile or laugh again. Taken from the world by the cruel heat of flames. Sam did not cry; there weren't enough tears in his system that could even attempt to quell the sorrow within his heart. He vaguely remembered Dean and Missouri trying to comfort him- to ease his pain with words and seemingly soothing touches.

“Enough,” he whispered fiercely to himself, “She's the past. Let her go, Sam. Jess would want you to.” His chest ached with reminiscent heartbreak. Part of him believed that he would never love again- couldn't bear to open himself to another human being quite like he had with Jessica Moore. He winced; even her name sent pangs of grief through his soul.

His stomach rumbled abruptly and distracted Sam from his painful memoirs. Sam fought to ignore it; he didn't want to think about eating now, especially after he had just emptied his gut of his dinner from last night. Take-out did not taste as delicious coming up as it did going down, that much was certain. However, if his mind wouldn't let him sleep, then he might as well feed his rowdy stomach.

Reluctantly, Sam rose from the warmth of his flannel blanket and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. But he paused just as his heels pressed against the cool carpet. A muffled series of noises could be heard outside his bedroom door. Frowning, Sam spared a glance at his alarm clock. **6:01 am** blinked back at him in neon red light.

A tiny burst of surprise bloomed through the grief; had he really spent so much time thinking about Jessica? No, surely most of it had passed when he was puking. What really troubled him was that the alarm he'd set for the week had been disabled. Which was odd since it was only Tuesday.

The sounds rose a bit in volume, dragging Sam's attention from the clock. Now that he was paying attention, it sounded like...crying? Instantly, Sam got to his feet and crossed the room in a few long strides. His hand hovered over the door as he hesitated. The only other person in the apartment besides himself was Dean and Sam hadn't exactly given a cheerful goodnight.

The crying grew in volume. Concern won over guilt and Sam opened his door a smidgen. The hinges creaked loudly, announcing to Dean that his younger brother was awake. Sam saw the back of his brother's head turn in his direction. He back away from the door, apprehensive about Dean's possible anger towards him.

But he remained silent. Sam's frown returned; the crying had not ceased. “Come on out here, little brother. I know you're there,” Dean said. So much for hiding in the background. Sam hesitantly crept forward and went to stand beside Dean at the front door. When he saw Missouri sobbing against his older brother's chest, Sam quickly forgot his previous cautiousness.

“Missouri! What's wrong? Are you alright?”

“Oh, Sam, it's terrible! Just terrible! I should've warned him. Told him to be careful,”

Sam shot a questioning look over at Dean who quickly mouthed ' _later_ '. Murmuring soothing words, Dean gently led the distraught psychic back into her apartment. Sam watched silently with a bewildered expression as their poor neighbor tried to compose herself by patting her chest as she breathed in a trembling inhale.

Before she closed the door, Missouri took Dean by the shoulders and brought him down to her level. “You be careful now, you hear? Don't go off gallivanting wherever you want to or something might happen to you, too,” she said fiercely. Dean's eyes widened and he nodded quickly in agreement. Missouri seemed satisfied and released him with a tearful sigh.

As she closed the door, Dean turned in Sam's direction looking absolutely freaked out. Sam could relate. He was growing more and more confused with each passing moment; what the hell had happened? Shaking his head, Dean made a beckoning motion with his fingers as he passed Sam on his way into their apartment.

“Are you going to explain? Or am I going to have to figure it out on my own?”

“Sit your ass down, Nancy Drew, and I'll show you what fucking happened,”

Sam blinked, taken aback by his brother's grave expression and snappish tone. The front door slammed behind him on its own and made Sam jolt. Now feeling skittish, he went over to the sofa and sat down gingerly on its edge; his imagination was running wild with the unexpected yet daunting news. Dean returned from the kitchen with two beers and set them down on the coffee table.

Sam frowned and sent his sibling a disapproving look. Dean noticed and narrowed his eyes. Pointedly, he popped the cap of the bottle with his ring and took a nice, long swig. A drop of condensation dribbled down the side of the brown glass and disappeared into the crease of Dean's fingers. He swallowed and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Dean, it's six in the morning. Don't you think it's a bit early for alcohol?”

“Trust me, you're gonna want one when I show you what Missouri was sobbing about,”

Sam frowned as Dean nudged the unopened beer towards him. He still wasn't keen on drinking so early in the morning, but he also knew that his brother never drank unless he had a reason. Said reasons usually were the results of emotional issues that Dean never talked about out loud. But those held a story that was better left untold.

So, Sam watched warily as Dean picked up the television remote and switched on the news. A pale woman could be seen standing in the street in front of the new coffeehouse and the laundromat beside it. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a bun with a few wisps of loose strands swaying in the wind. She, too, sported a solemn frown.

“...officials are saying that the victim was murdered in cold blood. The barista was found lying face-down in the alleyway beside his workplace with a knife sticking out of his back. While there are no known witnesses at the time, police are working to figure out who the killer could be. Some believe that this is the result of the renowned serial killer, Lucifer. Because of such claims, Mayor Braeden has declared that all citizens remain indoors until the situation is handled. For everyone's safety. Th-,”

Sam's trembling finger hovered on the power button of the remote. His wide, horrified eyes were glued to the glowing TV screen. Balthazar's police sketch eyes stared right back at him. It didn't make any sense. Sam had just talked to Balthazar yesterday. He had physically seen the man with his own two eyes and had even been flirted with by him. How could that same person be dead overnight? Moving on autopilot, Sam popped the cap of the beer on the side of the coffee table and tipped his head back as he drank.

Dean watched from where he sat on the armchair, his own beer held against his lips. He didn't want to tell Sam that Balthazar hadn't been the only victim. There had been another- the real estate woman who'd first shown them the apartment. Dean didn't feel that she needed mentioning- not right now. But the fact that two people had been killed in the same night...it send chills down his spine.

And he knew that Sam felt similarly. Hell, his poor brother had actually spoken with the barista guy. Dean could only imagine what Sam must have been going through. He hoped that the alcohol could ease a bit of the shock; Dean really did not want Sam to have an attack. Part of Dean hadn't even wanted to show Sam. But he knew that his pain-in-the-ass little brother would find out eventually.

And he did _not_ want to hear that lecture. His phone buzzed against his thigh and his ringtone blared out. Fumbling in his pocket, Dean pulled out his cell and saw ' _Cass_ ' on its screen. He pressed a finger to his lips to inform Sam to stay silent and pressed the green answer call button.

“Hey, Cas,”

“ _Hello, Dean_ ,”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with you so early in the morning?”

“... _Did you hear about what happened?_ ”

Dean sighed; leave it to Castiel to go straight to the point. Sam scrunched up his face as though he were trying to portray his confusion. He even scooted closer to try and listen in on the conversation. Leaning away, Dean sharply shook his head and focused on his best friend, who was still waiting patiently for Dean's answer.

“Yeah, Cas, we heard. It's on the news,”

“ _Is Sam awake?_ ”

“As awake as I am. Why?”

“ _You might want to leave the room then_ ,”

Dean frowned and shifted the phone against his ear as he stood. He could barely hear Castiel; there was so much noise in the background that seemed dedicated on drowning out his voice. Regardless, a gnawing feeling clawed at Dean's gut; something didn't feel right. His friend sounded gravely serious. There was a hidden secret underlying Castiel's tone. While Dean wasn't totally okay with keeping things from his brother, he felt that just this once, he ought to listen to what his best friend had to say.

Sam swiveled his head around like an owl as Dean walked silently around the couch and down the hallway. Dean ignored his brother and quietly shut his bedroom door behind him. There was another voice in the background on Cas' end- a male voice. Dean heard Cas pull away from the phone to answer the stranger. A flash of jealousy made Dean's hands clench. He quickly shook them out; being jealous of a random ass guy was something a chick would do.

“ _Dean, are you still there?_ ”

“...Yeah, Cas, I'm here,”

“ _Did you do as I suggested?_ ”

“Yes. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is so important that I can't even tell my own brother?”

Castiel was undaunted by Dean's annoyance. However, he did hesitate before answering; he knew that Dean wouldn't be as affected by the news Cas had to share. But Sam would. That was why Cas had wanted Dean to leave the room; Sam would throw a fit if he found out. And knowing Sam like he did, Castiel knew that if that happened, all hell would break loose.

“Well? Spit it out,”

“ _Before I say anything else, I need you to promise me something_ ,”

“Depends on the promise, Cas. Dude, what's with the shifty attitude? And where the hell are you anyway? It's 6:30!”

" _I am at the airport_ ,"

"The airport?"

" _Yes_ ,"

"Okay. Now I'm really confused. Why the hell are you at the airport? You going somewhere? Why didn't you tell me?"

“ _I'll answer any questions you have for me when we come home. But I need you to promise to keep Sam in the apartment until I get there. Can you do that for me?_ ”

Dean paused in his pacing and stared at the cellphone in his hand. His best friend was not only being short with him, but there was a note of desperation in his voice that made Dean's chest tighten. What was Cas up to that made him so nervous? And what was so big that Dean couldn't involve Sam? The images of the crime scene from the news story flashed in Dean's mind. He gripped the phone tighter. 

“Cas...,”

“ _Please, Dean. In any other circumstance, I'd inform you of what's going on. But I can't in this instance. I need you to trust me on this_ ,”

“Fine. Fine, I get it. Just be careful, alright? I don't want anything to happen to you while you're off doing God knows what,”

When the other line went silent, Dean realized what he said and how it must have sounded. A red flush warmed his ears and cheeks. He could only imagine the look on Cas' face. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut; he could be such an idiot sometimes.

“ _I will be careful, Dean. We're on our way home as I speak. I'll keep you posted, okay?_ ”

“Sure, Cas. I- wait, did you say we? Who's with you?”

“ _You'll see soon enough. Goodbye, Dean_ ,”

“Don't hang up on me! Hey!”

But Castiel had already ended the call. Dean stared at his bedspread as he listened to the drone of the dial tone. His mouth pressed into a thin line. He tried not to fret over who Cas was bringing home with him. It was none of Dean's business, right?

He ended the call with a quick click. Lowering his phone to his bed, Dean fought the urge to punch something. Of course, Cas chose now of all times to be mysterious and secretive. Dean groaned in frustration and rubbed at his temples with the tips of his fingers.

There was a knock at the door followed by Sam opening it to peep his head through. Dean glanced up at his younger brother and he could see the apology written all over his face. Not that Sam actually needed to say sorry; Dean understood why Sam had snapped at him earlier.

Sam usually went through this phase with a “leave me to save yourself” type of attitude. It always showed up during Sam's worst moments. And it was in these moments that were the hardest for Dean; he needed to back off and stop fussing like a mother hen. But it was difficult since all Dean had ever wanted was to protect his little brother. He had to keep telling himself that he couldn't save Sam from everything.

“Was that Cas?”

“Yeah. Said he was out somewhere. Told us to stay in the apartment,”

“Cause of the murders?”

Dean shrugged. If he said any more, Sam would figure out that he was keeping things from him. Which would start an argument that was sure to send both brothers over the edge. Dean's vague answers seemed to win Sam over though, much to his relief. Sam looked down at the carpet with a downcast frown.

“So, I noticed something about the recent murders,” he began. Dean sensed the underlying fright in Sam's voice and tensed up. But before Sam could finish his confession, Dean's cellphone rang again. His ringtone filled the room and echoed off of the thin walls. Dean looked from the phone to Sam then back again helplessly.

“Go ahead. Answer it,” Sam said with a nod. Even though he knew that Sam wasn't meaning to add that extra bite to his tone, Dean flinched anyway. Sam pretended not to notice and crossed his arms. Clenching his jaw, Dean took a deep breath in through his nose and huffed it out like an angry bull as he snatched up his cellphone from the bed.

“Yeah?”

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Dad?!”

The brothers shared twin incredulous glances; their father, John Winchester hardly ever called them. The only time he ever gave a crap to actually acknowledge his only sons was maybe during the holidays and even that was rare. Something big must have happened. Sam went over to sit beside his brother, leaning with an ear towards the phone.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“ _I have some bad news, Dean_ ,”

“I kinda figured that out on my own, Dad. I mean, the only time you ever call is-”

“ _Quit talking and listen, damn it!_ ”

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear as John rose his voice a few octaves. Sam clenched his hands into fists as he fought the urge to take the phone away and start cussing. He and his father had never really gotten along too well; Sam hated having someone order him around and that's just what John Winchester enjoyed doing the best.

The two would fight constantly and if it weren't for Dean splitting them apart, Sam would have killed John a long time ago. It had all started the moment their mother Mary had died. John had become a controlling, abusive asshole. While he wasn't always that way, Sam still couldn't stand to be around him. Especially if he was drunk.

Dean had unfortunately gotten John's bad habit of binge drinking, but at least Dean knew when to stop. John could drink for days on end, if he was upset enough. But from what Sam could hear, John didn't seem sloshed. In fact, he sounded...sober. Which was a trick of all trades in terms of his mood swings.

“ _I'm sorry for shouting. It's just...something happened- something personal- and I felt that you would want to know_ ,”

“Well, what the hell happened? Dad, you're acting weird. Spit it out already,”

“ _It's Benny. Benny Lafitte. He's...he's dead, Dean. Body was found an hour ago under a bridge. There's no head_ ,”

In that split second in time, it felt as though the entire world had stopped turning. Dean stared straight ahead at the closet door and Sam could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard. His jaw clenched then unclenched furiously while he blinked rapidly to prevent himself from crying.

Benny had been a close childhood friend of Dean's. The two had grown up together back when Sam and Dean were still living with their parents. When Mary died, Benny had been the one to hold Dean, to catch all the salty tears into his shoulder, and tell him that everything would be alright; John had gotten too drunk out of his mind to even consider his eldest son and Sam had been an infant.

Benny had been there for Dean more than any other living being and now he, too, was gone. Taken cruelly from the world without a second breath. There would be no more heart-to-heart talks over the phone, no more crude jokes that were told between the two of them, nevermore would Dean get to embrace his friend for the final time. He would never have a chance to say goodbye.

Yet, Dean did not weep. In fact, he refused to. Not just because Sam was in the room with him, but also because Dean knew that Benny would not have wanted his best friend to shed useless tears he could no longer wipe away. However, regardless of the lack of sobbing, pure misery raged in Dean's heart and soul.

One could not describe the raw agony that consumed Dean Winchester once the news had fully set in. Suddenly, Dean forgot that John was on the other line and that his brother Sam was sitting right beside him. At that moment, Dean was alone; he was isolated in the frigid world with no one to comfort him or take the damn pain away.

No one to heal his shattered heart or to hold him so tightly that all he felt was safe and secure. He did not have that sense of understanding that death was a natural thing. Benny had been murdered; there was nothing natural about it. The gripping pangs of grief in his heart contorted into twisted rage towards the person- no, the monster- who committed such a deed.

“I'll be there in a few days,”

“ _Dean, I know this is hard on you, but you can't-_ ”

“I'm not missing Benny's funeral, goddamn it! I wasn't there when he died, so I sure as hell am going to be there when he's put in the fucking ground!”

Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder only for it to be shoved off violently. His older brother was seething and there was nothing that Sam could say or to to quell that miserable anger. So, Sam sat back and let Dean yell at their father; he knew how Dean was feeling. He remembered the burn of grief and how badly it stung.

But Sam and Dean had different means of showing their despair. Sam grieved in silence, usually in a quiet room where he could be alone with his thoughts or by distracting himself with meaningless things. Dean, on the other hand, was the violent type: yelling, punching, throwing the closest thing around across the room, and even refusing to eat or sleep.

The two did have one similar trait when it came to expressing their pain; they didn't. Both refused to show just how bad they were hurting inside, especially to friends or family. The Winchester brothers would rather suffer alone than involve others; it would be burdening to them. While Sam and Dean knew that it was an unhealthy way of dealing with their feelings, it was all they'd ever known.

This instance was no different. Sam watched Dean as he paced back and forth across the room, his teeth clenched and bared in fury. John Winchester's voice could be heard clearly through the cellphone; he was shouting right back at his son. The doorbell rang and Sam quickly fled the room to go answer it. He couldn't bear watching Dean in such pain while hearing his own father's anger, which was not helping in the slightest.

His older brother didn't seem to notice Sam's absence; he was fully engaged in his screaming session with the asshole on the other line. Rubbing at his temples with one hand, Sam hurried to the door and turned its knob with his other hand. The fluorescent lighting of the hallway burned Sam's eyes, forcing him to squint.

“What can I do for you?”

“Have I come at a bad time?”

At the sound of Nick's voice, a weighted feeling of dread settled in the pit of Sam's stomach. He knew that his neighbor was here to remind him of his promise to help move Nick's furniture. A deep sigh erupted from Sam's chest before he could stop it. He was so tired and he really did not want to move such heavy objects at almost seven in the morning.

“Look, I know that I promised to help you with your stuff, but-,”

“Oh, is that what you think I'm here for? No, no, the movers already brought my things up last night. I must have forgotten to tell you. Anyway, the reason that I'm actually here is to see if you're alright,”

“What?”

“Surely you've seen the recent news stories? Those poor men. What their families must be going through right now,”

Nick nodded with a solemn expression that was almost comical. His lips formed a childish pout and his eyebrows scrunched together to portray concern and worry. Which, of course, he wasn't at all sad or grieving in any way. Why would he? Sam was easily fooled and spared Nick a tired smile.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine,”

“There is no need to lie to me, Sam. I can see that you're not. You're about as fine as your brother is right now,”

Sam frowned and shifted his weight against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. Nick did not seem affected by Sam's clear disapproval towards his obvious prying. He actually appeared indifferent towards Sam's discomfort. This made the skin along Sam's spine crawl.

“Listen, I'm not sure how you know the way my brother is feeling right now, but-,”

“Well, he isn't exactly the quietest person, is he?”

As Sam opened his mouth to defend Dean, he could hear Dean's yelling loudly bouncing off the walls of the hallway. He blanched pale as he came to the realization that everyone on their floor could hear Dean's shouting. Every person who had been sleeping had been rudely awoken by rough yells and inappropriate words. Sam bit the inside of his cheek as embarrassment warmed his skin.

“I-I'm sorry about Dean. There is no way for me to calm him down at this point. He won't listen to me,” Sam stuttered lamely. Nick appeared unconvinced. As his neighbor stood there in quiet judgment, Sam found himself inching towards Castiel's apartment across the hall. If anyone could calm Dean down, it was him. But he wasn't home and Sam was getting more and more anxious.

Nick also had a bright predatory look in his eyes and he never tore his gaze away from Sam's torso. Sam uncomfortably shifted; he had realized too late that he had never put on a clean shirt. So here he was, nude from the waist up and standing in front of his creepy neighbor. Nick seemed to be watching every movement with hungry concentration, as though he didn't want to miss a single detail.

It was obvious that Sam did not like being stared at- his body language practically screamed it. But the look in Nick's eyes reminded Sam of when he had been in the coffeehouse. The image of that awful gaze tightened Sam's throat and prevented him from speaking his mind. He desperately wished Dean would come out there and tell Nick to get lost.

Down the hall, the elevator bell dinged as its doors opened. His brows furrowed at the sound of Dean's angry voice, Castiel motioned to the person behind him to hurry from inside the elevator. He clenched his jaw as he saw Sam standing the doorway of the brothers' apartment. This clearly displeased him, but he chose to maintain a neutral expression. As Cas speedily walked down the hall, Sam's head whipped around so fast Nick was certain he'd given himself whiplash. 

Relief, pure and strong, brightened Sam's eyes and he quickly rushed towards Castiel. The man walking behind Cas faltered in his step a bit, which caught Nick's attention immediately. He appeared to have recognized Sam and was hesitant to continue walking. Suspicion and dislike filled Nick immediately; he did not like how this new person was so interested in his Sam.

“Sam, is that Dean? What on earth happened? Why is he so angry?”

“Dad is on the phone with him. Benny died,”

“Oh, no. So that's why...how did it happen?”

“We're not sure. But Dean really needs you right now. He's pretty pissed off- hold on, who's that with you?”

Sam stopped walking, as did Cas. The man behind them halted instantly, much like an escaped convict in helicopter searchlights. Sam peered closer at the stranger and stepped closer to him. The man stepped back. Unfortunately for him, he had reacted too late; Sam had recognized him. Before he could even blink, Sam had the poor guy pinned to the wall and was ripping off his hat and scarf.

Long, combed back, dark honey blond hair- complete with sideburns- puffing out in different directions from being under the hat, Gabriel smiled sheepishly. His eyes- a golden color similar to sunlight streaming through a glass of whiskey- sparkled with a mixture of mischief and wariness. His slightly long, if a bit crooked nose wrinkled in an almost child-like way.

Which was exactly what Gabriel looked like in that moment- a child that had been caught with its hands in the cookie jar. He lifted his gloved hands up in a sort of surrender pose and tilted his head a little to the side feigning innocence. In a nutshell, he was trying to say that he meant no harm. Sam was no fool and tightened his grip on Gabriel's scarf. Gabriel gagged only a bit.

“Hellllooooo, Sasquatch. I'm guessing you remember me?” he said in a strained, teasing tone of voice. He trailed his eyes down Sam's bare skin and smirked. He then winked charmingly. Sam growled under his breath and looked as though he was about to strangle the man in front of him. Castiel quickly wedged his way between them and shoved Sam lightly away with the palm of his hand.

“Sam, please, we can do this later. Let's go inside. The quicker Dean is calm, the better it will be for everyone,” Cas said. A moment of silence. Sam woodenly nodded and glanced again at Gabriel standing slightly behind his friend. He seemed suspicious, as though he was waiting for Gabriel to do something at any moment. Shaking his head, he ushered the two inside and was about to shut the door when he noticed that Nick was still standing there. Sam internally cringed.

“Oh. My friend will take care of Dean. You don't have to worry about it anymore,”

“I wasn't worried about De-,”

“Thanks for coming by. See you later,”

And the door was slammed right in Nick's face. Hot fury blazed so fiercely through Nick's veins that he was tempted to kick the door in and kill all the men residing inside, with the exception of Sam. No, Sam deserved a punishment far worse than the scenario playing in his mind. How dare he, after everything Nick had done for him, simply throw it all away?

This thought gave Nick pause. He had provided a security system, he'd defended Sam in front of that barista, given him free beverages and food, disposed of said barista after Balthazar had publicly humiliated Sam, and he'd gone through the trouble of going to Sam's door to ask how he was doing.

And how did Sam repay him? By rebuffing his affections, by trying to weasel out of his promise to help Nick with his furniture- oh yeah, he'd noticed that right away-, and ignored his presence near completely. Not to mention he'd flaunted himself like a succubus. He even had the gall to slam the door in Nick's face. The person who had done nothing but help Sam during his emotional week.

Nick rushed into his own apartment and slammed the door behind him. Uncontrollable anger burned into his nerves, making him want to lash out at anything close to him. His fingernails dug into his skin as he wrapped his arms around himself. Nick slid to the floor with his back against the door. He tucked his head down with his chin on his collarbone and tried to breathe.

“Calm down, calm down. It was a mistake, that's all. Sam wouldn't do this to you. Not after everything you've done together. No, you idiot, open your eyes! Sam betrayed you! He has to be punished for what he's done,” Nick muttered to himself. He twitched and he began to rock back and forth, striking the back of his skull on the door. Harder and harder.

“Punishment. What can hurt him the most? How can you make him sorry? How can you show him that he belongs to you and only you? Think! THINK!” he hissed. The fury clouded red over his sight and all coherent thoughts became crazed with the desire to string Sam up by his- wait. Like the slam of a sledgehammer, it came to him.

All was deathly still in Nick's apartment. Then, a dark chuckle disrupted the quietude of the space. Nick raised his head while grinning a grin so devilish and malicious that at that moment he lived up to his serial killer name. It wasn't Sam that he needed to punish; it was Dean. Nick had thought long and hard about how that meddlesome brother got in the way of Sam Winchester.

It was Dean who had pulled Sam away from their first meeting and it was Dean who had driven this rift between Nick and Sam. If Dean hadn't been screaming like a raving lunatic about his dead friend, Sam would still be lying awake in his bed. And Nick would still be watching the precious man through his cameras. But no! Dean ruined it! He had ruined everything.

It was all because of Dean's influence that Sam even thought of Nick as someone to be wary of in the first place. He and Castiel both played their parts in convincing Sam to fear Nick. Well, if it was a game the two wanted to play, then Nick was more than happy to take his turn. To make Sam think such horrid things...surely that was enough of a reason to punish the pair, right? Game over for both of them.

And Nick knew exactly how to do it. Giddy with the excitement of plotting out another delicious murder, he rose from his perch on his floor and grabbed his car keys. But when his hand wrapped around the door knob of his front door, he remembered that no one was allowed outside. He'd have to wait. Cursing under his breath, Nick threw his keys to the side and stalked into his living room.

Pacing the floor, Nick concocted his devious plan to harm the eldest Winchester and the little plaything he called a best friend. He snorted; honestly, those two didn't even try to hide their attraction towards one another. It was disgusting to watch, in Nick's opinion. None of that mattered though. Regardless of their so-called love, they deserved to be maltreated.

He knew, of course, that by carrying out his plan, Sam would be hurt in the process. Nick was okay with that. Sam needed to have another kick in the face. It seemed that Jessica's death was beginning to wear off, so Nick needed to provide another source of pain. Just to spice things up. Smiling ever wider, he left the living room in trade for the crawlspace.

A desperate craving to see and hear his precious Sam nearly tore Nick apart, even though he had seen him merely twenty minutes ago. The second his monitors were switched on and Sam's face was visible, any to all nasty thoughts regarding the beautiful man vanished. Oh, Nick couldn't stay mad at his Sammy for long. How could he? Sam was perfection in human form. Especially when his bare flesh was exposed. Nick's mind replayed the way his stomach muscles had flexed and shifted.

A shiver shook Nick to his core. He licked his lips and imagined running the tip of a knife down those washboard abs. Oh, how that crimson blood would spill. But before Nick could launch into one of his sick fantasies, his monitors abruptly cut off with a whining drone as did every light in his apartment. “No. No, no, no. Come on. Turn back on! Damn it!” Nick roared in frustration. Fearing his neighbors would hear, Nick took the red cushion he was sitting on and screamed into it as loudly as he could.

Nick wasn't the only one without power. Everyone in the apartment building was in the dark. Sam, Castiel, Dean, and Gabriel were already lighting candles. Cas had successfully managed to calm Dean out of his fit of rage and a decision had been reached with John Winchester; they would all go back to Sam and Dean's hometown for Benny's funeral and stay a few nights with John.

At first, Dean had been insistent that only he and Sam go to John's, but under Castiel's firm resistance towards the brothers being alone with their alcoholic father, he relented. Now, the four men were stuck in the Winchesters' apartment in dimmed candlelight. Gabriel, who had yet to remove his winter clothing, emerged from where he'd been getting drinks for everyone.

“Unless you want to sweat to death, there's a coat rack right over there,” Sam said through clenched teeth. Cas looked up at Sam with a pinched expression. Dean winced a bit under his breath. Sam looked between Cas and Dean in befuddlement. Gabriel rolled his eyes and shuffled over to the armchair, sitting down with a muffled thud.

He was extremely reluctant to sit close to Sam. The visit had been going so well...he didn't want to ruin it. But Gabriel also knew that he couldn't stay in this position forever; Sam was right. It was starting to get hot in there. Castiel watched as the man adjusted his collar and a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face.

“Oh, will you just tell him why you're here, Gabriel? This is becoming tedious,” Cas snapped. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose as a tense hush came over the room. Sam stared tight-lipped at Gabriel as he sat there frozen in place. “If he's going to act like that, I'd rather not,” Gabriel muttered under his breath.

Sam stiffened and rigidly crossed his arms. Gabriel cringed and pressed his palms against his eyelids in frustration. Both Dean and Cas looked between Sam and Gabriel worriedly. Gabriel seemed to want to say something, but judging from the way he bit his lip and avoided Sam's eyes, he didn't quite know how to put it into words.

This was so unlike Gabriel that Castiel was beginning to grow concerned. When his older brother had called asking if he could stay with him awhile, Castiel had agreed without a second thought. But now...Cas wondered if he had made the right decision. Both Sam and Gabriel seemed to be suffering with the others' presence.

Which was understandable, considering their past. The two had known each other back in high school, way before Sam had known Castiel. Sam had been invested in his schoolwork and hadn't made very many friends. Gabriel took full advantage of that and had taken an interest in the lonely Sam Winchester. Which was bad on Sam's end.

See, Gabriel was known for being a prankster and a damn good one at that. For some odd reason that Sam still did not understand, he had been the main target of Gabriel's trickery. He hadn't had a chance and Gabriel was not one to give mercy. Sam had been relentlessly exposed to an assortment of different jokes and stunts.

Everything from whoopee cushions to water buckets over doorways- Sam had undergone each and every last one of Gabriel's tricks. But the one thing that to this day haunted Sam's mind was when Gabriel had wired his alarm clock, his cellphone, and anything with an audible alarm system.

He had tinkered with the sound tech of each item so that every Tuesday the song “Heat of the Moment” by Asia would play nonstop. Sam couldn't get away from it and would have ended up going insane had Dean not taken all of Sam's affected technologies to a specialist. So, yeah, Sam had quite a bone to pick with Mr. Gabriel. And he was not thrilled with his arrival.

Without speaking a single syllable, Sam stood and began to walk towards his bedroom. “Sam, don't leave,” Dean started, but his younger brother ignored him and slammed the door to his room. The force of it shook the walls and nearly knocked down a picture. Dean threw his head back and groaned in annoyance. Setting his beer down, Dean got up and stormed over to Sam's door.

“Get out here, Sam,”

“Get the hell away from my door, Dean,”

“Not until you come out here and talk to him. Come on, Sam, you're acting like some chick facing her ex-boyfriend,”

“Haha, very funny,”

“Either come out here now or I'll show Mr. Hangdog over there your baby pictures of you buckass naked in the tub,”

“You wouldn't dare. Besides, we don't even have those pictures,”

“You really willing to risk that?”

Dean waited patiently as Sam went silent. Castiel awkwardly helped Gabriel out of his winter outfit and busied himself with hanging the articles of clothing on the coat rack beside the front door. It took a few more minutes of Dean negotiating to finally get Sam to come out of his room. Sam had changed into a thin grey long sleeve shirt and it showed off Sam's arms muscles as he crossed them over his chest.

He was not happy with the situation, that much was clear. Not that anyone truly blamed him; Sam and Gabriel did have an unstable relationship. A few months after Dean had introduced Castiel to Sam, Gabriel had paid a visit much like this one. But it had been an entirely different experience; Sam had been away with Jess and hadn't known about the Trickster's visit.

There was something off about the mannerisms of this Gabriel, however. He had been there for an hour now and there had been no cracks about how small their apartment was, no wiseass remark about how Dean couldn't control his temper, nor was there a word said about the faint smell of old laundry that never seemed to leave no matter how often they cleaned.

Castiel went over to Dean and Sam watched with hooded eyes as the two talked in low voices. Dean cleared his throat and shrugged on his coat. Sam straightened as panic suddenly spawned in his gut. Dean and Cas announced that they were going to go talk to the doorman downstairs to see if there was any chance the power could be restored.

Sam wanted to reach out and grab Dean's jacket sleeve as he passed- like a child who's parent was about to leave them with an untrustworthy babysitter. But he didn't. Instead, Sam clenched his hands into fists and remained stoic. Dean gave a little wave as he shut the door. There was an audible click then nothing.

Gabriel kept his mouth shut tight. Feeling a bit perturbed by the man's silence, Sam picked up an unopened beer from the coffee table and opened it with a loud pop. Gabriel flinched a little but still remained speechless. Sam narrowed his eyes and took a sip from the bottle. As the cool liquid coated his tongue, Sam could feel his annoyance growing.

“Are you going to say something or are you going to sit there?” Sam asked coolly. Gabriel looked up in surprise and Sam indifferently swirled the liquid in the bottle resting in his fingers. Gabriel scratched at his cheek and awkwardly straightened up. He watched Sam absentmindedly twirl the bottle of beer around for a few seconds then cleared his throat.

“Well, you weren't exactly being friendly, Moosey,” Gabriel teased, “I thought you were going to bite my pretty head off.” Sam sent him a cold look. Awkwardness filled the room once again. Gabriel was getting real sick and tired of the tense atmosphere and fidgeted in his chair.

“For fuck's sake, Dean-o was right. You're acting like a prissy ex,” he snapped, “I try to make conversation and you give me the cold shoulder.” Anger flashed in Sam's eyes, but Gabriel kept on talking without caring about Sam's growing irritation. “Talk about having a temper tantrum. I haven't been here for more than an hour yet and you're already acting like I murdered your goldfish,” he continued.

Sam clenched his jaw and set the bottle of beer down on the coffee table. Gabriel took him by surprise though and rose from his chair to sit beside Sam. Too bewildered to raise his fist, Sam scooted away from Gabriel. Which had absolutely no effect for Gabriel just came closer. Sam's breath was coming in panicked gasps through his nose; Gabriel was inches away from Sam's face.

“You know, I was going to tell you why I came here, but I think you have a bit of explaining to do. Like, for example, why the hell you're so mad at me when we haven't spoken for years?”

“You wanna know why?!”

“I didn't ask you for my health, Samsquatch!”

“It's Sam! And let's see: you torture me from the moment we met with your stupid pranks, you trip out my stuff with that damn song that I can never get out of my head even if I want to, and you haven't even apologized for any of it! So forgive me if I'm a bit pissed at you,”

Sam wildly looked around for an escape; he was currently trapped in the corner of the couch with Gabriel hovering over him in a very intimate position. Gabriel frowned and his brows scrunched in puzzlement. He sat back and Sam allowed himself a sigh of relief. It wasn't until Gabriel returned to the other side of the couch that Sam noticed the man had gone silent again.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair while gnawing on his lower lip. Sam could tell that he was thinking hard about something, but Sam didn't understand what he had said that could have caused such confusion. Suddenly, Gabriel groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Sam blinked, not understanding what the hell was happening.

“Wow, that plan backfired. And here I was, after all, these years thinking that you were just too busy to shoot me a message,” Gabriel mumbled. Sam's previous anger simmered down in his belly and utter confusion took its place. He shoved himself up from where he was squished between two couch cushions and glanced over at Gabriel.

“Are you going to leave me in the dark here or...?” he questioned. Gabriel jolted, as though Sam had startled him from his thoughts, and he fixed his wide gaze on Sam. Softly, Sam's breath caught in his throat. The way the candlelight was shining on Gabriel's face, his eyes were like a pair of blazing, golden flames. They were shimmering with a vulnerability that Sam had never seen before in Gabriel.

“I...I was never good at expressing myself through words, so I figured the song would get my point across. Turns out that was a flop,”

“You're going to have to elaborate. What are you talking about?”

“The song. The one I had play on all your fancy gadgets? Heat of the Moment?”

“No, I know what song you're talking about. What about it?”

“Dear God, Samsie, did you even listen to the lyrics?”

The lyrics? Sam turned away and clasped his hands together over his knees. Now that he thought about it, he had never really listened to the entirety of the song; as soon as it would begin to play, he'd flee to another room. But what could possibly be so important about the lyrics? It was a song about....Sam didn't even know what it was about.

“Okay, okay, don't blow a fuse. I'll play it for you. One time only. Use your big boy ears and actually listen to it, would you?” Gabriel said. He pulled out his cellphone and brought up YouTube. He typed in the title of the song with shaky fingers and set the phone on the coffee table.

As the song began to play, painful memories of covering ears and frustrated screaming into pillows resurfaced. But Sam shoved these away and really listened to the lyrics like Gabriel wanted him to. “ _I never meant to be so bad to you. One thing I said that I would never do. One look from you and I would fall from grace. And that would wipe the smile right from my face_.”

A light bulb blinked on in Sam's head; Gabriel hadn't been trying to prank Sam with the song. This had been his way of apologizing. That explained why he had wired all of Sam's stuff; Gabriel was truly sorry and wanted Sam to know it. And now that Sam was actually paying attention to what the singer was saying, he realized that that wasn't all Gabriel was trying to tell him.

“ _It was the heat of the moment. Telling me what my heart meant. The heat of the moment showed in your eyes_.” Sam glanced over at Gabriel and was surprised to find him turned away. Furrowing his brow, Sam slid closer to him and tried to catch a glimpse of his face. Was Gabriel...blushing? He certainly appeared to be, judging from the beat red flush in his ears.

A fluttering feeling sprang up in Sam's gut. He had been wrong about Gabriel all along. Here he was thinking that Gabriel was just a mean bastard who liked to bully Sam, when in reality it had just been his way of saying “I like you.” It had been a real life version of the saying “If a boy is mean to you, that means he likes you.”

Sam's negativity towards Gabriel didn't quite vanish completely, but it did lessen to a dull roar. He did not agree with that stupid saying anyway; he believed that it was a sure way to turn children into jerks that ended up becoming abusers in the future. Sam knew that Gabriel hadn't been trying to be mean, but he still didn't understand why he'd been targeted.

“Why me?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you choose me to be your prank victim?”

“Victim is a harsh word. I'd call you my guinea pig,”

“Gabriel,”

“Alright! Jeez, talk about pushy. Back in school, you used to hangout all the time in the library, like the nerd muffin you are. I'd been there for one of those stupid projects they hand out in English. I saw you sitting at one of the tables. You were reading some book- I don't remember which one- but you suddenly laughed and ever since then I tried anything I could to make you do it again. Guess that backfired on me, huh?”  
  
Gabriel hesitantly turned to face Sam and smiled crookedly. Sam raised an eyebrow and found himself shaking his head in dry amusement. Even if he wanted to continue holding a grudge against the guy, Gabriel sure was making it difficult to stay upset. Gabriel waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he noticed the way Sam's eyes had softened from their frigid hardness.

“You're a dork,” Sam teased in a neutral tone. Gabriel dramatically pretended that Sam's words had struck him like a bullet and he tumbled to the floor with one hand over his heart and another against his forehead. His hair fanned out behind his head like the tail of a koi fish.  
  
“You've wounded me, Sam-wich. I don't know if I'll ever recover,”

“It's Sam. And you'll live,”

“No way. I'm done for. My spirit is crushed,”

A smile tugged its way through Sam's ever present frown. Gabriel sighed and sat up on his elbows. He tilted his head and Sam could see the resemblance between him and Castiel. Then Gabriel smirked seductively and ruined it. His eyes sparkled with amusement and he flirtatiously fluttered his eyelashes.

“Well, well, well, I know I am a treat to look at, but please feel free to touch,”

“Oh my god. You're ridiculous,”

“Aha, you didn't refuse!”

“I refuse,”

“Damn it. Should've kept my gorgeous mouth shut,”

Sam laughed as Gabriel pouted sulkily. He felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and the overbearing atmosphere lifted significantly. Though Sam hadn't gotten a word for word apology from Gabriel, he had read between the lines. Sam took a sip of his beer.

“So, why are you here, Gabriel?”

“Eh, family crap,”

“Like what?”

“Oh, the usual. Bickering, fighting, the works. I had to get away. Too loud, you know?”

Sam watched in mild concern as Gabriel got to his feet and slumped down beside Sam on the couch again. Although his voice was bright and playful, in his eyes a great pain could be seen pooling in those amber depths. Sam sighed and set his beer down on the table again.

“I know how that is,”

“Do you?”

“Oh yeah. Dean and Dad were just fighting about Benny's death earlier,”

“Benny?”

“Dean's childhood friend. He was decapitated and thrown under a bridge,”

Gabriel whistled long and low. Sam nodded and felt the warmth of Gabriel's hand on his shoulder. When he glanced over in question, he found the man looking at him with sadness and sympathy in his eyes. Sam sucked in a breath; they were practically nose to nose.

“It'll pass. Dean's gotta learn that sometimes you just have to let people go,”

“Yeah...you're right,”

“Course I am. You want some candy?”

Sam blinked and laughed a little in disbelief; that was a hell of a way to change a subject. Gabriel grinned and pointed towards his coat on the rack.

“Got the whole enchilada in there. Chocolate, lollipops, you name it. Papa Gabriel has it all,”

“You carry candy in your pocket? Are you Willy Wonka?”

“If that's what you wanna call me. But lollipops aren't the only things I've got that you can suck on,”

Sam spluttered and felt his face burn with embarrassment. Gabriel winked and chuckled suggestively as he rose to his feet. He grabbed his phone off of the table and began to spin it in his hand. Gabriel was just turning to Sam to say something else when the cellphone slipped from his grasp.

As he went to grab it, Sam leaned back with his arms above his head as he caught the phone before it flew over the back of the couch. Unfortunately by doing so, Sam's legs stretched out and tripped Gabriel as he lunged for his phone instinctively. Gabriel pitched forwards and Sam shifted his hips as the cellphone nearly slipped from his fingers.

One thing led to another and suddenly Gabriel was straddling Sam's waist. Sam's left hand steadied him by the shoulder while the other held onto the phone for dear life. Sam and Gabriel both flushed pink. However, before either man could speak, there was the sound of someone clearing his throat.

“Are we interrupting something?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to recommend listening to this amazing guy I found on YouTube while reading Nick's stalker parts. His name is Chase Holfelder and he takes songs sung in major keys and sings them in minor. It's really cool and I've been listening to a few of his covers while writing this. Ones that set the mood the most in my opinion are: Animal, Every Breath You Take, I Will Always Love You, The Reason, and All I Want For Christmas. Check them out!


	5. Dark Times Call For Desperate Measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long. Hope you're still interested! I've also figured out that I can reply to your comments :P ...I know, I'm slow, I got it. ...Read the chapter.

Sam and Gabriel each swiveled their heads towards the front door. Dean, Castiel, and Adam huddled in the entrance way. They all exhibited various reactions towards the scene in front of them. Dean looked positively flabbergasted, Castiel seemed mildly stunned but for the most part bemused, while Adam was beat red with secondhand embarrassment.

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows suggestively and sent Sam a lascivious grin. He wasn't at all embarrassed at being caught in such an insinuating position. In fact, he savored the attention. Though, he was disappointed that it was unplanned; it would have been way more intimate had Gabriel been aware of what he was doing.

Sam, on the other hand, was so mortified he could hardly think straight. He flushed so hot, he was sure steam was rising from his face. He quickly shoved Gabriel away with the sweep of his arm and sat up. Without looking anyone in the eyes, Sam tossed the phone he'd been holding clenched in his fist onto Gabriel's lap.

_Everyone is staring at you._

“What's going on? Can we get the power back on?” Sam coughed, as though nothing had happened. Gabriel seemed a bit wounded by the dismissive gesture but still smiled like a love drunk idiot. Sam internally cringed as Dean lifted an eyebrow as though to say ' _you're not fooling anyone_.' Adam cleared his throat awkwardly as he maneuvered around Castiel and Dean, who were looking at the pair on the sofa with dawning understanding.

_Judging you. Degrading your existence._

“Nope. I called the electric company. They say that there won't be any power until tomorrow. That the storm knocked out the power lines. The maintenance people have to come by and fix it,”

“Damn. Is it just a thunderstorm?”

“Oh, yeah, just a thunderstorm. With lightning, thunder, winds that reach about 35 mph, rain that pelts you in the face, you know. The works. Cause a storm that shorts out the power isn't something to worry about,”

“Right, sorry. So, how long is it supposed to last? Do you know?”  
  
“Well, before it cut off, the TV said that it was gonna last all day- maybe into tomorrow. I can't say for sure if that's the truth or not. Can't trust weather people. Oh and, since the power is off, it's going to get either very hot in here or super cold. So, bundle up or strip, I guess,”  
  
“Got it. Thanks for telling us, Adam. But, uh..not trying to be rude here, but why are you in our apartment? Couldn't you have called this in from your desk downstairs?”

“Yeah, cause I actually want to be trekking through this shit building like I'm in the Dark Ages. No. I have to tell everyone and their families individually about the storm. The intercom is broken,”

The room descended into an awkward silence. Sam and Gabriel looked at the doorman with nearly similar expressions of mild annoyance and discernment. Dean and Cas simply ignored the blatant sarcasm in Adam's voice and toed out of their shoes. They seemed unaware of the overbearing tension filling the room.

Unfortunately, everyone else picked up on it. Adam shuffled his feet and tried not to stick out like a sore thumb in the Winchesters' living room. Dean and Cas shuffled around him like pedestrians with a traffic cone and removed their jackets, which they hadn't needed after all. Adam looked as though he wanted to say more, but instead he mumbled a curt farewell and dejectedly scuffled away. He waved halfheartedly and left the apartment without another word.

No one paid him any mind. No one ever did pay too much attention to Adam. Except his mother, but she lived in a completely different state than he did. When he'd moved out, Adam hadn't realized how hard it would be. Poor kid didn't have a friend in the world and the only other family that he had had no clue who he was. Or, if they suspected, they didn't care.

Adam stifled a suspiration as he left the Winchesters' apartment. They had been the reason he'd left his mom in the first place and what had been waiting on the other side? Annoyance, forced politeness, even snappish replies- mainly from Dean, but still. It wasn't fair. Adam tried so hard. He took every chance provided to bond with the brothers.

But every attempt he made to get close to them ended in failure. Not that they gave a damn. Those two had never and would never be bothered with him. He could be dead, for all they cared. Adam scoffed under his breath; why would they? He was nothing to them. For all they knew, Adam was just some snot-nosed college student with a smart mouth...

Sam and Dean Winchester had no clue. Maybe if they knew what Adam did, those guys wouldn't be so standoffish towards him. Perhaps they'd offer to actually hang out with him. Or help him with his studies. Or possibly letting him ride in that really nice car they had parked out front. He'd be sure to be extra careful; Dean loved that car.  
  
They could take him under their wings and teach him how to manage antiques. Maybe he'd be able to work there with them part-time and get praised for a job well done. They might even call him br- Adam rolled his eyes; yeah, right. That would never happen. Adam would remain as nothing more than the pesky doorman from downstairs. A rush of desolation filled his heart; if only he could find a way to tell them.

It wasn't like he hadn't tried before; every conversation he had with them, Adam tried to throw in some sort of hint. Well, except for their recent one. But every time that he made an attempt to tell them the truth, his tongue would get all tied up in knots and he couldn't speak. Adam sighed and turned away from the door; oh, well. It wasn't like it was the end of the world, right? A couple more months of silence wouldn't hurt.  
  
Since the Winchesters' apartment was the last on the hall, Adam had to walk all the way back to the elevators. In the dark. With not a soul in sight. And, as if things weren't crappy enough, he had to take the stairs, which were just as gloomy as the hallway; the elevators were inactive and just as useless as the rest of the stupid building.

Thunder suddenly roared loudly, startling Adam so violently that he couldn't help but utter a small shriek. He ducked instinctively with his hands flying up to protect his head. His fingers gripped at his short blond hair and his stubby nails dug into his scalp. Adam pressed the heels of his palms against his ears. He couldn't help it; the entire building seemed to shake with the impact of the deafening rattle.

The rattling- he would learn from some smelly contractors in a fortnight- was caused by the bricks of the exterior part of the building that were loose enough to be shifted somewhat in their nestled crevices. Their rough consistency scraped against the ancient building's infrastructure. The eerie sound it created echoed against the thin walls of the unlit corridor and sent a sharp shiver all the way from Adam's neck to his tailbone.

After the thunder faded, Adam scowled shakily and straightened up. After patting himself down to make sure that he was alive, he proceeded to shove his hands unceremoniously into his hoodie pocket while he continued walking. His sneakers made soft, muffled thuds as they padded despairingly down the hideous red carpeted hallway.

As Adam was wondering who the hell designed this godforsaken building in the first place, a door creaked open down the hall. Crap. What sort of weirdo wanted to wander the hallways in the dark if he didn't have to? This guy did, apparently. Adam froze, all instincts telling him to stay put. _Danger!_ his mind seemed to say. He was not a fool- well, in his mind, he wasn't. But even he knew better than to ignore such an unsubtle warning being presented to him.

A scruffy-haired man emerged with a bag of -what Adam assumed to be- trash, which he set diligently down beside his door. Quick as a snake, the guy slipped from the dimness of his poorly candlelit apartment and locked the door behind him. Adam watched with mild, if a bit wary, curiosity as the man twisted his door knob about six times to make sure that it was indeed locked securely.

Then, the person shiftily glanced down the other end of the hall towards the elevators. His whole torso leaned back as he peered into the darkness. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man was obviously up to something. Adam narrowed his eyes mistrustfully. The stranger was being too cautious; he clearly did not want to be caught doing whatever it was that he was doing.

What was he hiding? Was there something important in his apartment that he wanted to keep a secret? Adam briefly glanced at the number nailed to the door of the apartment: 6. Did that have something to do with the knob twisting? He made a mental note to do a double check on the tenant that lived there. A surge of anticipation fluttered in Adam's stomach like the drop of an adrenaline rush; he did love a good mystery.

But as quickly as it emerged, Adam forced his excitement to die down; there were more serious matters at hand. He could be an investigator later. So, with a not-at-all frightened step, Adam forced himself to move forward. Right now, he had to do what his job entitled him to do: take note of the suspicious activity and assist the resident. And Adam did his job exceptionally well- much to his misfortune; it wasn't the most exciting of occupations.

It was only when the dude reached down to pick up his trash did he notice Adam cautiously walking towards him. For a split second, the stranger went rigid with his hand hovering over the drawstring of the trash bag. Then he smiled politely in greeting and snatched up the bag. Adam nodded in return and paused a few inches away.

“Hello again,”

“Again? I don't remember meeting you,”

“You're the doorman, aren't you? You just came to my home to tell me about the storm about twenty minutes ago,”

“Oh. Sorry. Must've forgot,”

“Yeah. But I didn't realize that you'd still be out here in the dark. Are you alone?”

“Do you see anyone else?”

“Hm, touchy. I assume that you haven't told everyone?”

“Obviously. Why else would I be wandering down the halls still?”

“You have quite the attitude this early in the morning,”

The stranger's pitch shifted ever so slightly, giving it an underlying warning note. Adam felt his throat tighten up and his mouth go dry; what the hell was this guy's issue? If he couldn't handle a bit of sarcasm, that was too damn bad. There was no need to go all scary about it.

Adam stiffened as the stranger's eyes bore into his. It was like looking into a ravenous tiger's stare with Adam being the slab of meat laid bare for the taking. He involuntarily took a hurried step back, much to his aggravation. And the doorman did not like the rush of fright the man's stare sent through him. Said fear rapidly turned to anger and chafe.

While Adam wanted to tell this newcomer where he could shove it, he realized that his job was on the line; he'd have to be more professional. Thankful that he couldn't be seen rolling his eyes nearly into the back of his skull, Adam adjusted his tone. Not a whole lot, but enough to keep his sass to a minimum.

“Y-you have a flashlight with you, sir? The elevator is down and the, uh, stairwell is dark as hell,”

To his chagrin, his jumpiness caused him to stutter and his voice cracked on nearly every syllable. Damn. So much for professionalism. The stranger's patronizing smirk did not make matters any better. Adam shifted from foot to foot, trying to distract himself from his previous mortification.

“Oh. I hadn't thought of bringing one with me. I'm guessing it was because I was so focused on taking this out,”

The man gestured with his free hand towards the bag of trash. Or what looked like trash. Now that he was closer, Adam could somewhat make out that the material of the bag was made of a rougher texture than that of a normal trash bag. Like cheap plastic that'd been woven to resemble cloth. Struck with a burst of courage, Adam raised an eyebrow and motioned to the bag with a quick jerk of his chin.

“What's in the bag?”

“Surely you know that it's rude to ask someone that?”

“Don't care. You're not a lady, so I could care less about your sensitivity towards personal belongings. It's my job to report suspicious activity if I see it. So, I'm gonna ask again: what's in the bag, sir?”

If it hadn't been pitch black in that goddamn hall, Adam would have seen the dangerous glint beginning to glow in the resident's eyes. The stranger licked his lips and lightly shoved four fingers of each hand into the pulled tight opening of the bag. With a tiny sigh, he tugged against the tautness of the drawstring and the contents of the bag were revealed.

“Why the hell are you throwing away so many plastic bags?”

“I happened to have too many in my apartment. They're useless and hang from my coat closet door handle. I figured that I might as well be rid of them once and for all,”

“You just happened to have a bag of nothing but other plastic bags hanging off a door in your apartment?”

“Are you saying that you don't?”

“...touché,”

“Are you satisfied now, Ostiary?”

Adam shrugged and pulled out the tiny handheld flashlight from his pocket. He held it up and waggled it back and forth. The stranger lifted an eyebrow and made a small hum. He pulled the strings of the bag and it closed once more. Adam clicked on his flashlight and the space was blindingly illuminated for a split second before the light sputtered into a subdued beam.

“Not a very useful flashlight, is it?”

“No, but it's all I have,”

An awkward silence filled the hall. Adam shuffled a little in place as he tried to speak. But words felt too heavy on his tongue and got sucked away before they could be uttered. The stranger seemed to be getting more and more agitated with each passing minute. Adam didn't blame him; he himself was getting mad that his brain wasn't fucking working right. Eventually, his mouth caught up with his thoughts and Adam breathed out a sigh.

“Sorry for bothering you, sir. Let me help you find the exit,”

“Not a problem. I can find my own way-,”

“I insist. Besides, I'm the only one with a flashlight,”

“...very well. Get moving,”

As the two began to walk to the door with the big, faintly red 'EXIT' sign over its frame, Adam found himself glancing at the man quietly keeping in step with him. In the dark, he hadn't been able to quite make out the individual's features- the outlines of the male's face were blurry and he had had his head lowered for the majority of their conversation.

However, now that Adam could see the basic details of the newcomer's face, he sensed that he had seen this guy before. Not just from telling him about the storm. Adam suspected they'd seen one another in some other way before. But he couldn't for the life of him remember when.  
  
While he longed to ask the man who he was, part of him advised that now was not the time. Call it intuition. Adam decided that it'd be better to keep an eye on the stranger for now. They paused in the stairwell, the entry door closing with an echoing click. Adam shuffled his feet and glanced up at the upper levels. He bit his lip; man, he was gonna regret this.

“I'm, uh, supposed to go to the next floor, but I guess I can go with you down to the lobby,”

“Would you do that for me? You're too kind. Really, your superiors ought to give you a raise for your dedication to your work,”

Adam wasn't sure if the man was being sarcastic or not. He couldn't see the guy's facial expression too clearly in the shadowy light, but his comment hadn't been caustic. In truth, the newcomer was acting like Adam was a distraction for something that was troubling him. Huh. Guess Adam wasn't the only one afraid of the dark.

“Yeah, tell them that. See how that works out for you,”

“You're pretty prickly, aren't you? Well, by all means, lead the way...?”

“Adam,”

“Decent name. Biblical,”

“I guess. Never really thought about it, to be honest with you. What about you?”

“Nick. Which is biblical, too, if you believe in that crap. Ironic, huh?”

Adam sent Nick a side-eyed glance; what the hell was with this guy and the Bible? Was he some kind of religious nut? Or was he like a satanic cult leader that was a little too touched in the head? Adam took a nonchalant step away from the man; oh, hell no. Whatever or whoever this Nick guy was, Adam was not about to get involved in that crap.

“Sure, mister. Uh, nice to meet you,”

“Likewise,”

They didn't speak for the remainder of the trek to the ground-floor. The only sounds that echoed in the empty stairwell were their uneven footfalls and the rustling of Nick's bag of bags as it swung against his leg. Adam absentmindedly fiddled with the safety strap on his flashlight while he walked. He had tried tapping the side of the flashlight to fix the light, but to no avail. They could at least figure out where the walls were, but the small beam of illumination was hardly enough to see properly.

The silence was also beginning to get to him. Although Adam spoke with people on a daily basis, the quiet that followed their conversations would almost always be comfortable. The dead hush that had fallen over the two held a sort of dry electricity to it. Adam could feel the hairs on the nape of his neck and on his arms rise with the swell of goosebumps.

The alarm of _Danger! Danger!_ continuously blared in Adam's self conscious. He pondered over what was near him that could be so life threatening. Adam glanced from the flashlight to the stairs to the roof then to both side walls. Nothing appeared to be out of place or anything too menacing. Adam frowned in confusion as the irrational fearfulness rose up like the bubbling inside a cauldron.

Maybe it was because they were in the creepy hardly used stairway with nothing to guide them but the waning, flickering light of the tiny torch. That must have been it. It definitely made more sense to Adam. He also wouldn't doubt it if the place was haunted; more times then necessary, he had felt eyes on him when no one else was in sight. Those stares hadn't been pleasant.

Adam shuddered; he despised anything supernatural or paranormal. Things relating to the topic always gave him the heebie jeebies. If he couldn't see it, then there was no way he could protect himself against it. That frightened Adam more than the trepidatious snarl of forewarning in his stomach. Suddenly desperate for a distraction, he turned to Nick.

“Uh, s-so what do you think about this weather? It's pretty crappy, huh?”

' _The weather?! For fuck's sake, Adam, what is wrong with you? You can do better than chat about the damn weather!_ ' he thought harshly. He wanted to kick himself in the rear for asking such a cliché question. However, Nick didn't react too harshly to the boy's question. He tilted his head to the side either contemplating his answer or in an attempt to hear the nearly deafening splatter of the rain striking the ground outside better.

“I enjoy it. Storms are...exhilarating,”

“Really? How? They're nothing but rain, wind, and lightning. Kinda pathetic, if you ask me,”

' _Well_ , _I don't remember asking you_ ,' Nick retorted mentally. This Adam fellow reminded him of a buzzing dipterous insect. So many pointless questions. To think, he had just begun to savor the tranquility of the stairwell; why did this child have to ruin it? Just to discuss the weather! Of all the hackneyed subjects...Nick resisted the impulse to roll his eyes and came up with a partially bullshit answer.

“On the contrary. Storms create beauty, but can also create quietus. Lightning, for example. It can be beautiful to look at, but did you know that there have been an average of 51 annual deaths by lightning strikes in the past 20 years? To create so much destruction without trying...it's amazing,”

Was this dude for real? Adam's face practically screamed ' _what the fuck?_ '; there was no point in talking to this loon. This guy was creepier than Adam originally thought. Not only did Nick have a set, wide grin, but there was also an underlying tone in his voice that made the center of Adam's abdomen shiver. Not in a good way either. Which was beginning to drive Adam mad; what was it about this man that was freaking him out so much?

It was seriously setting his teeth on edge; Adam prided himself on not being scared of many things. Spiders? Nah. Snakes? Totally fine. Needles? Sketchy, but okay. Paranormal crap? Get that shit out of here. But people? There was nothing scary about people. They were human beings, for crying out loud! Even terrible people- like murderers and cannibals- didn't necessarily frighten Adam; they unsettled him, sure, but scaring him? No chance in Hell.

This dude was probably just one of those kooky people that gave off odd vibes. It must have been the paranoia from the darkness getting to the young doorkeeper; Adam had read in a textbook once that the brain creates hallucinatory images in pitch blackness. It was a sort of panic mode because it couldn't see the things that were only visible in the light. Something similar must have been what was happening to Adam's instincts towards Nick.  
  
Besides, Nick couldn't have been dangerous. Adam glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the man swinging the bag of bags like a child with a lunchbox. Yeah, cause that was something to be afraid of. Adam felt his shoulders relax a little. The idea about his brain just having a breakdown was beginning to make more and more sense as the two walked.

And, regardless of how irritating Nick's off-the-wall reply had been, the occupant hadn't been terribly awful company. In fact, he even dared to admit that he felt more at ease with the guy now- it was amazing what communication could do. Not that they really talked...okay, maybe communication wasn't the right word for it. Perhaps small talk would be a better word choice.

Although, despite having mildly positive thoughts towards Nick, it wasn't like Adam was completely buddy-buddy with the dude; Adam trusted him as far as he could throw him. But Nick had been nothing but polite with the college scholar and he allowed his guard to slip- just a little. With his imagination filled with images of humorous cartoon people running from lightning bolts, Adam allowed his mind to drift.

At this point, they had reached the bottom floor and were standing by the front lobby doors, watching the rain slap against the pavement outside. Thunder rolled sluggishly and lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the vestibule in white light. Cars that were parked somewhat diagonally along the parking lot shimmered with water droplets and reflected the striking light.

Nick peered out at the rain stone-faced, his eyes flicking ever so slightly from left to right. He was pondering something, it seemed. If it was something regarding a specific Winchester brother with long chestnut hair, no one but he knew for certain. Nevertheless, whatever it was appeared to have unsettled him. Greatly. His brow wrinkled and an annoyed quirk tugged at the left side of his mouth.

Adam, too, was looking out at the rain. His front teeth steadily gnawed at the corner of his lower lip apprehensively. He did not like how powerfully the trees were blowing in the wind; they looked as though they'd fall at any given moment. If the stupid things hit the building, the damage costs would come out of Adam's paycheck. Damn mother nature.

The dumpster sat on the other end of the lot, its glimmering green face mocking in the distance. It wasn't a terribly long walk, but it was enough to cause anyone who made a journey towards it to get completely and utterly drenched. On a good note, Nick noticed that it was big enough to hide a body. Not that he'd ever be that careless to dispose of one in such an obvious spot, but it could serve as a contingency plan.

“If you want, you could leave the bag by the doors. I can have Steve take it out tomorrow when it stops raining,”

“Steve?”

“The security guard. He comes back from vacation tomorrow evening. A vacation...of course it had to go to the fucking security guard, who, unlike some of us who actually need a freaking break once and awhile, didn't deserve it,”

“Focus!! Tomorrow evening? What time would you say?”

“Oh, around...uh, nine o'clock. Why?”

“Crap. Then I'd rather not trouble him. I was hoping maybe he could assist me with something. But whatever,”

“Help you? With what? Are you planning something?”

“That's none of your business,”

Adam frowned; the man's sudden aloofness was either caused by Nick's delve into his subconscious or that the doorman had finally made him snap. For a brief moment, Adam imagined asking the cryptic tenant exactly what went on in that brain of his. All at once, his skin cooled and, again, a yanking, twisting feeling of fear knotted the muscles in his stomach; Adam might not like the response to his curious interrogation.

Nick ignored the now trembling boy beside him, centering on the idea forming in his mind. Calculating the amount of time needed to perform the act and considering the effects of the thunderstorm, it would take masterful skill to pull off what he had in mind. Nick plunged into an internal struggle within himself. The rational side of him was screaming not to go through with the madness he had concocted.

_You'll end up destroying any chance you have at getting closer to him if you fail!_

_Yes, but just think: it will be so worth it. He will never know you're there. Child's play._

The other part- the side that lusted for the death of humanity and for Sam Winchester- agreed with the demented program with gusto. And so it undoubtedly won the argument. Nick abruptly opened the doors to the lobby and stepped out into the storm. Adam squawked in surprise and rushed over to the door. He clung to the doorway- one hand gripping the frame, the other waving wildly.

“Hey! You're gonna get yourself killed, you dickhead!”

Nick grinned as he strode purposefully through the downpour; he wouldn't be dying anytime soon. ' _“Get yourself killed”_ '. Please. Poor sap didn't seem to understand that he had just spent time with a murderer. Lucifer himself, to be exact. The one who had been behind the sweet death of _Hell's Java_ 's most prestigious of coffee brewers. No, if anyone was going to get themselves killed, it surely would not be Nick.

Adam presented himself as quite the presumptuous fellow. Nick did not doubt that Adam had his wits about him; the killer had been one step away from exposure because of that pesky brat. Ugh, why did the porter have to be so intrusive?! Nick's precautionary measures paid off in the end though. ' _No unmasking for you, Scooby Doo!_ ' Nick chuckled to himself.

Although Adam hadn't yet earned his spot on Nick's kill list, he was certainly jonesing for it. The urchin had asked far too many questions to be fair. If Nick wasn't as ingenious as he was, Adam would surely have caught him in the lie before Nick even left the hallway. Nick clenched his teeth in annoyance; what was it with that family and prying into people's personal lives?

The questionnaires from Sam had been endearingly nettlesome, but Adam's were positively vexatious! Nosy, nosy, nosy! He'd like to chop that nose right off and- Nick took in a pacifying breath through his teeth, making a strange hissing noise. There was no point in getting upset. Not now. Fuming over that pipsqueak would have to wait until later; at the moment, Nick was on a mission.

Making sure that the dewy-eyed guard was blind to his actions, Nick sifted through the bag and lifted the waterproof camera from its gullet. In the beginning, he hadn't wanted to hide the camera in this manner- a simple drop in the pocket and the plan could've worked out just as flawlessly. But no, Nick was too conniving. He knew that there would be interruptions. And he had been right.

Nonchalantly slipping the camera under his clothes, Nick hurriedly made sure to make a big show of him tossing the bag of plastic bags into the dumpster. Unfortunately for him, the wind chose that moment to blow in his direction and water ran in rivulets down his sleeves.

Disgusted, Nick tried to shake out the wetness, but it was too late. The water had soaked through his long sleeves and was seeping onto his skin like pooling blood. To worsen the situation, drops of rain were tapping against his skull like irritating mariachi dancers. They slid with the oozing slowness of slime down his nape, causing the threadbare hairs to stand on end.

Nick angrily slapped at the sensation; while he hadn't been fibbing about enjoying storms, he'd rather watch them instead of frolicking in puddles like a blasted water nymph. He couldn't stand being wet- very much like a feline. The moisture irritated him to no end. It was nearly torturous. However, his plan called for it. Nick would have to deal.

Shaking the water out of his eyes, Nick turned on his heel and promptly jogged back into the front lobby. Adam was there waiting with thick, white, fluffy towels. Like a servant. Hm. Fitting. Nick could feel a sort of bittersweet rush of mocking affection. Perhaps this boy wasn't too bad. This settled it; Adam could live another day. He would just have to be monitored, that's all.

“Thank you,”

“You're nuts, man. Running out in the rain like that. You could've been struck by lightning like those other people!”

The corners of Nick's mouth lifted in a tiny smile as he dried his hair. It would be nice to have another lackey. Perhaps he could make good use of this Milligan boy. For the time being. Adam, unaware that his entire existence had been spared, stared at the man in front of him in awed incredulity. Nick caught his eye through a hole in the towel and smirked.

“There is a saying that I'm sure you're aware of: Take a picture. It will last longer,”

Adam could feel the beginnings of a blush rise to his cheeks. Faltering over his words, he hurriedly glanced down at the dingy brownish yellowish flecked tile. Ew. He seriously needed to call somebody to change out the flooring. Nick simpered and took the final towel from Adam's grasp. With it, he somewhat seductively rubbed its fluffy warmth along the nape of his neck and down his arms.

Adam completely ignored him. A bit put off that he could no longer goad any more amusing reactions from the frumpy young soul, Nick resolved to lay off his bullying towards the doorman in order to make headway on his original plan. It had to be perfect. No room for errors. Which meant that it was time to get rid of the ostiary. Nick looked up and gave Adam his most convincing sheepish grin.

“I should have waited until that Steve guy came back, huh?”

Adam peered up at Nick through his lashes. While he was still uncomfortable with being openly called out on something he hadn't intentionally been doing, Nick's honey-sweet tone was soothing and eased away some of the tension. He even managed a slight smirk in response.

“Yeah, that would have been smart,”

“Well, it's too late now, I guess. Just need to get out of these clothes. I should be heading back upstairs anyway,”

“Oh, crap! You reminded me! I forgot to tell the other residents about the power!”

Adam groaned and rushed off towards the stairway. Halfway there, he paused and swiveled his head around to look back at Nick. A genuinely ashamed look hallowed out the boy's face in an almost cynical way. To Nick, he all but resembled the Grim Reaper. The sputtering light from the flashlight only enhanced the dark shadows on his face.

“Go on,” Nick called, waving his hand in signal for Adam to leave, “I can make my own way back. Besides, someone has to put these towels away.” Adam sagged in relief and, with the smallest salute of two fingers, he was gone. Nick could hear the boy sprinting up the stairs at full speed. The killer's mouth stretched into a sinister grin.

“Bye-bye, Doorman,” Nick sneered, twiddling his fingers in a dismissive way. He then leaned down and scooped up the three towels from where they lay in a heap on the floor. Gathering them in his arms, Nick made his way to the grotesque laundromat that was over to the left-hand side of the main elevators. Stepping inside, he set the bundle of cool, damp cloth down on a washing machine.

Humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like _“Sympathy For The Devil_ ” by _The Rolling Stones_ , Nick opened the once alarmed exit door- thanks hindered power lines!- to the sad scrap of grass that was meant to be considered the lawn. Because the yellowed, ashy grass and patches of asphalt littered mud puddles would set their rundown apartments on the cover of _Better Homes and Gardens_ magazine for sure. It even had a dead bird- lying horrifyingly close to the exit- to spice up the property. Real classy.

Glancing around casually, Nick unhurriedly walked with his hands in his pockets around to the back of the building. The rain and wind whipped at Nick's blond hair and soaked through his clothes, but this time he paid no attention to it. His brain registered what appeared to be a rusty old fire escape attached to the building's old brick structure. It was massive and stretched all the way up to the roof, its straight steps zigzagging up all ten floors.

It could hardly be seen through the gray mist of thunder clouds and thick raindrops, but Nick was able to pinpoint what he needed: the pull-down ladder. Once again checking his surroundings for peeping eyes, Nick quickened his pace as he crossed the “lawn” to the strip of cracked sidewalk. His shoes squelched and squished with each step, their insides filled with rainwater. His socks were long since soiled with sogginess.

The feeling of wet feet sent repulsed shivers through Nick's body. His toes curled in the abnormally hot waterlogged cotton of his socks and he nearly gagged. He needed to carry out his plan now and he needed to do it fast; he wasn't sure if he could take much more of this. As if to enhance his exasperation, a raindrop struck him square on the nose, causing Nick to sneeze violently.

His watery, blazing gaze lifted and locked on to the hiding bottom rung of the ladder. It was about two feet above him. Nick made a noise of contempt in the back of his throat; of course the manufacturer of this building had been too cheap to install a swing down fire escape ladder. Because Hell forbid that someone had to ascend the escape instead of descend.

All the same, that wouldn't be too much of a problem. Nick merely had to leap up and tug it down. It was going to take all of his upper-body strength to drag the damn thing to the desired level, but this was inevitable. Nick didn't care that his entire being was going to be sore and screaming at him the next morning. He didn't care that gallivanting in the pouring rain was going to subject him to about three weeks of coughing, mucus, and suffering.

No, Nick was perfectly content with what he was doing. His cameras were down and had been for about an hour now so he desperately needed to see Sam soon or he was going to lose what was left of his mind. Back in his crawlspace, Nick had done some careful thinking and planning. With no electricity, he was forced to revert to old methods- ones that fit the stereotypical stalker trope: sniping pictures of Sam with his own personal camera.

The plan was to climb the fire escape up to Sam's lodging, wait until the coast was clear, slip into the man's bedroom without being noticed, and hide in the closet until Sam retired for bed. The photographic camera Nick had bought was relatively cheap considering it had been on sale in a drug store. But it could do the job well enough.

Film hadn't been an issue since Nick- not Lucifer the serial killer, but Nick the deceased twin brother- was set on loot. By that, he meant money. Paper, moola, greenbacks, cold hard cash. The whole ten miles. And he- who may or may not have been a contributor to his sibling's demise- had inherited all of it.

“Thanks, bro,” Nick snickered as the film engorged camera bumped against his thigh as he shifted his weight to his right hip. Eager to hurry up and get it over with, he evaluated just how high the ladder was and judged how hard he'd have to jump. His calf muscles twitched in leery expectancy.

Placing all his strength into his legs and hips, Nick bunched his muscles and jumped as high as he was able. The tips of his fingers barely grazed the rusting metal of the ladder. He slammed back down onto the concrete and winced as the impact sent miniature shock-waves through his feet and ankles. As he waited for the burning sensation to fade, Nick glared at the bottom rung of the ladder.

He needed to jump that extra few inches. Sam would be waiting at the top. With this thought fueling his adrenaline, Nick bunched up again and gave it his all. Once again, his fingers grazed the metal. Close but no cigar. Gritting his teeth, Nick angrily leaped again. The tip of his index finger and his watch caught onto a loose rivet, allowing Nick to have a momentary grip on the rung.

Without wasting a second, Nick jerked his body upwards by using a sort of dolphin kick type of motion. As silly as it was, it worked. His cold fingers wrapped securely over the metal rod and Nick was able to bring his other hand up. Now with both hands on the ladder, Nick lifted himself with a grunt. Then he jerked the ladder down with his remaining strength. It moaned and screeched as it dropped down haltingly. It took about five jerks for Nick to get the ladder all the way loose.

When he had completed the tedious task, he pressed his forehead against the cool metal in front of him. He was already tired and the aching soreness has begun to reveal itself. Still, Nick forced himself to start climbing. Rung by rung, Nick gradually neared the top of the dicey security apparatus. The fire escape, its green metal illuminated by the single flickering street lamp, creaked precariously in the howling wind and rain.

While the balconies seemed sturdy enough and appeared firmly fastened, for a split second, Nick hesitated; if he missed a step or if he slipped, he'd die without ever being able to see Sam again. He wouldn't be able to carry out his inner fantasies either. He frowned and chewed at his lower lip. Dying was an unfortunately unsavory dilemma that couldn't be avoided.

Nick shook his head fiercely; fuck all of that. Seeing Sam was his number one priority at this stage of Nick's little game and he'd be damned if anything tried to get in his way. Not even the rain, with its sinister consistency, could damper his spirits. So what was the tiny chance of death supposed to do? Scare him off his ploy? Nick didn't think so.

With a confident smirk, Nick lifted his hand to grasp the next rung. Suddenly, there was a groan, followed by a creaking noise and the ladder shuddered. His feet slipped on the wetness of the smooth metal and Nick slid sideways instead of straight down. A cracking noise sent Nick scrambling for the main trellis like a rat fleeing fire in a torture cage.  
  
Panic and resolution ignited a sort of second wind in him and, out of sheer dumb luck, he managed to lash out far enough with his fingers to catch onto the bottom of the grating. The fingernail on his middle finger caught painfully in between the slots of the trellis and Nick had to physically bite down on his tongue to keep from expressing his pain.  
  
He swung precariously from the metal by one hand, his clothes whipping ferociously against his skin. Gritting his teeth, Nick brought his other hand up and grabbed onto the edge of the balcony. Grunting with effort, he pulled himself up and over onto the thick grates. His chest heaved and his eyes stared widely up into the web of metal above him. Nick truly had almost died...and it had been the most exhilarating moment of his life!

What a rush! A hysterical giggle worked its way from his throat, the sound bouncing off of the steel. Take that Death! For a moment, Nick felt immortal. Nothing could touch him! He was about to move his hand over his hammering heart when his finger throbbed angrily. The feeling was more bothersome than actually painful. It pulsed like an itchy mosquito bite that no amount of scratching could soothe.  
  
Nonetheless, even with the nail dangling like a loose thread, Nick ignored the vexing pain and rolled over onto his stomach. He scooted on his belly to the balcony's edge and peered over it. His mouth pressed against the cold, wet metal, but everything from his nose and up was suspended in the misty open space.

Gushing out a breath of relief through his nostrils, Nick glanced down at the fallen ladder. It lay solemnly on the pavement, almost like an unfortunate soul who'd made the decision to jump. At least, that's what it looked like to Nick. Even the bent piece of metal at the top of the ladder where it had been attached to the escape resembled a broken neck.

He wondered, for a moment, if his near death experience had been some type of omen. That his plan would undoubtedly fail and he'd be thrown back into that rotten jailhouse. Or maybe even put to death. Hah! He'd beaten Death; he could do it again if he had to. Besides, those people didn't know how to truly put someone out of their misery. Nick could teach them a thing or two...leave a lesson as a memoir.

Nick's demented thinking continued as he climbed the stairs of the fire escape, his feet making dull clunking sounds on the metal. Thanks to the whistling of the violent storm, not a soul heard the serial killer's steady footfalls. Nick ascended without interruption and, as it turned out, he would soon be in for a special treat- one that only he could appreciate. All he had to do was reach the apartment. Only a few more floors to go...

While the literal psychopath slunk his way up to the Winchester brothers' home, Gabriel rose from his perch on the sofa and made his way over to one of the windows. He deftly parted the blinds with two fingers and peered outside. Castiel joined his elder brother as Sam and Dean began to prepare breakfast. Gabriel clicked his tongue and jerked his head in the direction of the howling commotion raging on the other side of the glass.

“Talk about a crappy visit. It's no wonder Gigantor over there got cold feet. Get it? Cause of the weather?”

“Gabriel, please. Your presence here alone has caused Sam a hefty amount of discomfort. I don't think he'd appreciate your crude humor,”

“He didn't seem too uncomfy with me when I was riding on his lap,”

Gabriel glanced over at Sam, who ironically happened to be looking in the brothers' direction. Sam froze like a deer in headlights. Gabriel winked and made a kissing motion in Sam's direction. Flustered, Sam turned to flee only to bump into Dean, who was carrying a carton of eggs.

Luckily, Dean had quick reflexes and caught the container before its fragile contents could crash to the floor. With Dean's colorful swearing in the background, Gabriel turned to Castiel with a smug grin. Which fell almost immediately the moment he saw his younger brother's severe expression.

“This is not the time for humor, Gabriel. This family has been through terrible things as of late. Try to at least have some decency,”

Gabriel huffily turned back to the window and flexed his jaw. He quite obviously was meaning to give Cas the cold shoulder. Cas huffed an exasperated breath and rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure how he was going to get through to his older sibling; the two weren't exactly the closest of branches on their family tree. Castiel was amongst the youngest while Gabriel was among the four eldest children.

When Cas had talked with Gabriel on the phone, it had been their first conversation in years. Even though it had to be Cas to initiate the talk in the first place, Gabriel was acting like nothing had happened in their past- as though he'd never left their family so long ago. Cas was beginning to feel a bit regretful towards contacting his elder brother. But Gabriel had been the first person on Cas' mind at the time.  
  
Personal vendettas were to be shoved to the side and Gabriel- his innocent attitude suddenly made sense- had already figured that out. Cas' frown deepened and his brow wrinkled in puzzlement; when Cas had brought up the reason for his phone call, Gabriel had agreed to his terms without hesitation. At the time, Cas hadn't thought anything of it. But now...he glanced over his shoulder at Sam and Dean, who were examining the stove.  
  
Dean fiddled with the knobs while Sam looked on. They stood hip to hip with Sam's shoulder brushing against Dean's affectionately. When Dean's fingers slipped and caught painfully on the edge of a stove dial, Sam snickered unabashedly. This earned him a sharp jab to the arm. But before Cas could feel nostalgic towards his own past sibling rivalry, a tiny snort of laughter tore his attention from the pair.  
  
Gabriel didn't look like he'd moved a single muscle; he leaned against the window with one arm casually resting against the upper sill and the other hand lightly gripping the lower one. The only sign that he'd shifted at all was the quirked up corner of his mouth and the tender softness in his eyes. Cas tilted his head to the side in confusion .  
  
Nothing had been said that was funny, so what could have made him-? Cas glanced back at the brothers in the kitchen then back at Gabriel and back again. Sam was grinning and dodging Dean's playful punches with ease. Dean, too, was smiling and grabbed Sam in a headlock. The taller brother wrestled himself away and shoved his older sibling away with a laugh.  
  
As the two finally ceased their roughhousing, Cas found himself smiling softly. He couldn't help noticing the light in Dean's eyes and the flush in his cheeks and- like an interloper, the moment with Gabriel and Sam on the couch flashed in Castiel's mind's eye. Cas put two and two together then... _Ohh. So that was why he-_

“Don't you find it crazy that it's storming like this in October?”

Cas jumped a little, startled; he hadn't expected Gabriel to speak anymore. Guess the silent treatment was over. Cas peered out into the rainfall.

“...Now that you mention it, it does seem a bit peculiar to be storming so early in the season,”

“Think it's a sign or something? Like bad juju?”

Gabriel frowned- an expression that hardly ever graced his features. It made him look overly solemn. He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. Gabriel knew that he was being silly, but he could not shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something big and life-changing.  
  
“I don't think so, Gabriel. It's just a storm. While I will admit that it seems a bit too soon for one, they aren't uncommon in October,”  
  
While Gabriel believed in such a thing as ' _bad juju_ ', his too-serious little brother had never been the type for superstition. So when Cas dismissed it like it was nothing, he wasn't all that surprised. But from the moment he'd stepped foot in that hallway, Gabriel had gotten goosebumps all down his arms and the nape of his neck. The discomfort had not ceased until he had entered the Winchesters' apartment.

Part of him wanted to believe that perhaps it was just something he ate that was troubling him. While another section of his subconscious firmly argued that the building was haunted. Gabriel wanted to laugh at himself; what food could possibly make him feel so paranoid? Ghosts were a possibility, sure, but it just didn't fit with the sensation.

While Gabriel tried to decipher what had caused his body to react in such an eccentric way, Castiel stared out the window at the ferocious wind and furious bits of rain slapping against the glass pane. It made him wonder how he and Gabriel had both missed it. They had been outside not even thirty minutes ago and it sure as hell hadn't been raining then.

Had it started the moment they got into the building? Gabriel's curious, out-of-the-blue question hovered in the back of Castiel's mind. Was it a sign? Of what? Nothing too strange had occurred recently- at least not to his knowledge. Nick had moved in, but there was no proof that he had anything to do with the ever-present sense of perturbation that resided in the hallway.

Or did he? Cas' frown deepened as he recalled Dean's first impression of the new neighbor. While Cas hadn't thought too hard about the hair-raising feeling he'd experienced around the newcomer, Dean had been quick to point it out. And, although Dean could be a bit mistrustful towards people sometimes, he was an excellent judge of character.

This made Nick seem more suspicious in Castiel's mind. But even Cas knew that no mortal man could control the weather. The idea was absolute hogwash. It had to have been mere coincidence. Still, regardless of the man being unable to conjure up a thunderstorm, Nick was a character that Castiel did not trust. Sam had been oblivious, but Cas could tell what Nick had been thinking when the four of them were out in the hallway.

Cas had seen that same look before on a man who'd mugged one of his sisters; the stone cold emotionless gleam in his eyes, the sick, deranged, crooked smirk of someone who knows something others do not. Nick had held the same, if not worse, expression. Yes, Nick had the physiognomy of a madman. Or something similar. Now Castiel could have just been jumping to conclusions but-

“Cas,”

At the sound of Dean's voice from the kitchen, Castiel jolted out of his inner thoughts and returned to the real world. Disgust rose in his throat like bitter bile; jeez, how paranoid could he get? Nick was a sketchy individual- that much was for certain- but he was a human being like the rest of them. It was one thing to not like someone new, but to accuse them of being insane? That was going too far.

Cas shifted so his friend could see his face and his eyes instantly lifted to meet Dean's. There was a brief moment of silence. Sam cleared his throat, his eyes soft with wry amusement. Thankfully, the cough did not bring Cas and Dean into the spotlight of attention; it had been played off as though it had been real and not an attempt of a reality check.

“...yes, Dean?”

“Looks like it was more than just the lights that shorted out. The power is completely off.”

“Oh. We'll have to settle for something that doesn't need to be cooked then,”

“Like what?”

“I'm not sure. Sam, you're the expert on such things. What would you make that doesn't require use of a stove?”

Dean laughed as Sam sent Cas a sour look. Castiel met Sam's glower with an innocent blink. Gabriel glanced between them in mild amusement, his frown replaced with a smirk. Not a time for humor, huh? Please. Gabriel knew that even in the darkest of times, laughter could still be salvaged. Right when Sam was about to chuck the egg carton at Castiel, there was a brisk knock at the door.

Everyone's heads snapped in the direction of the sound and all four men froze. Who could be knocking at such an early hour? Sam briefly glanced at the clock- 7:16. The sun had barely risen for Heaven's sake! Hardly anyone visited them and not one of their many neighbors would ever just pop by for a visit. When the knock came again with a more urgent flair, Sam found himself walking to answer it.

“Who is it?”

“Jody Mills. Open the door, Sam. Now,”

Sam sent Dean a look of bewilderment. His older brother shrugged; he knew as much as Sam did. Cas and Gabriel both seemed equally confused and a bit concerned. Frowning, Sam unlocked the front door and turned the doorknob. Without hesitation, Jody pushed her way in and nearly knocked Sam over in the process.

“Good morning to you, too, Sheriff,” Dean quipped from the kitchen entryway. Jody, who currently resembled a drowned rat, sent a warning glare towards Dean. While her gaze wasn't entirely hostile, there was plenty of irritation in it to catch Dean off-guard. Removing her hat, Jody ran her fingers through her short hair. The action caused it to stick up in all directions.

“It is _not_ a good morning, Dean. People are going nuts over the recent murders and, unlike you all, I'm the one who has to deal with them,”

“What's been going on?”

“Well, since you asked, Sam, I've got about twenty or so civilians waiting for me back at the jailhouse. They actually asked me to arrest them so the quote: ' _Heinous murderer doesn't come and kill them all_.' Now, I don't know about you, but if people are starting to think that being in the slammer will save them, we're in deeper shit than we thought,”

Jody's words hovered in the apartment, heavy with the threat of chaos. Sam wracked his brain for something to say to help ease the Sheriff's frustration, but nothing came to mind. Dean appeared to also be at loss for words. Jody sighed and her terse expression dropped to reveal her exhaustion. Cas quickly exited the room, his pace purposeful. Sam gestured with his hand towards the armchair and Jody gratefully slumped down into it.  
  
“I'm sorry for snapping at you, boys. It's been one hell of a morning,” she muttered. Sam and Dean shared a look of grim understanding; they knew all too well what sort of morning it had been. Cas returned from where he'd been rummaging in the laundry room and handed Jody a warm pale yellow towel. Sam, standing nearby, could feel warmth emanating from it; Cas had apparently taken it straight out of the dryer.

She took it with a wane smile and peered over at Gabriel, who was lingering in the unlit corner of the dining room. Her head tilted in question. He nodded towards her in greeting. While Gabriel was polite about it, there was an underlying distrusting vibe to his actions. It was likely his stiff posture and how his muscled arms were crossed firmly across his chest.

“Hey there. Never met you before. Jody Mills. Local Sheriff,”

Although Jody's tone was friendly, Gabriel eyed her warily and briefly caught Sam's eye from where he stood behind the woman. At first, Sam didn't understand why the hell Gabriel was looking at him like that until he realized that it was the man's way of asking if she was alright to talk to. Confused and a bit touched by Gabriel's reliance on his opinion, Sam gave the smallest of nods.

The exchange had only taken a few milliseconds, but Jody noticed it right away. Being a cop, she knew how to read people by their expressions and gestures. It was as easy for her as riding a bike. Her shoulders tensed up anyway. She didn't want to bristle at how this new guy suspected her of devious motives, but something about the way his eyes bore into her made Jody feel like a mouse cornered by a cat. It was...violating.

“Look, no need to be a dick about it. I was only asking your name,”

“...Gabriel. And it isn't you. I just have this thing about cops,”

“And what thing are you referring to there, buddy?”

“You're all too quick to get violent, for one,”

Jody raised an eyebrow; oh, she could show him a thing or two about violent cops. Give her a can of mace and a few steps closer and she- Dean cleared his throat. When she turned to face him, it was Dean's turn to raise an eyebrow. Realizing her hackles were raised and that she was leaning threateningly towards Gabriel, Jody forced herself to relax.

“Introductions outta the way and all that, why are you here, Jody? You couldn't have come all this way, in the rain, just to become pals with Loki over here,” he said, jerking a thumb in Gabriel's direction. Cas shook his head with a disapproving look in Dean's direction. Dean feigned innocence and gestured with his arms as though asking what he did wrong. Jody sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I've been interviewing witnesses about the recent murder. Not many remember being around the coffeehouse at the time of death, but there were a few people who claimed that you all were there yesterday morning. As much as it pains me to do so, I have to take you three- er, four- in for questioning,”

“Wait, what?! We went to get some coffee, yeah, but Balthazar was fine when we left!”

“You knew his name?”

Sam faltered, taken aback by the sudden lowered tone of Jody's voice. Her eyes squinted a little in mild suspicion. When Sam nodded mutely, the Sheriff hummed and put her hat back on. As she was adjusting it, Sam sent a silent plea for help towards his brother and two friends. Dean shifted uneasily and lurched from where he'd been leaning against the door frame.

“We goin' to the station right now?”

“Yes. I don't have a choice, Dean,”

Jody paused and eyed the carton of eggs in Sam's hand. The rough gray cardboard trembled along with Sam as his anxiety sent millions of panicking thoughts through his mind. But Jody could not know the inner turmoil raging in Sam's subconsciousness. She assumed that it was possible nerves at going to the police station.

“Sam, it's alright. I'm not going to throw you guys in jail. I just have to ask you some questions. It should take maybe a couple hours tops. Jeez, you're acting like a criminal,”

Jody smiled warmly and gently took the carton of eggs from Sam. She set them on the side arm of the chair and carefully cradled Sam's face in her hands. His eyes focused on hers in surprise. The mom in Jody longed to comfort him like she would a child: ruffle his hair and give him a comforting peck on the forehead. But Sam was a grown man, so instead she embraced him.

Sam hugged her back awkwardly; he had to bend down a bit so he wasn't hovering over her. Jody waited until the shivers ceased. When they eventually died down, she pulled away and patted Sam on the side of the cheek with her palm. Sam looked at Jody with a grateful yet still startled expression. Jody winked and turned on her heel as though the moment had never happened.

“Unfortunately, I have to insist we leave immediately. The storm doesn't look like it's going to die off anytime soon. The earlier we leave, the better,” Jody said curtly, “So chop chop! Let's move!” Without another word, the four men rushed to blow out the candles. The Sheriff leaned against the wood of the door and watched impatiently. Her attention wandered over to where Sam was putting away the eggs.

Gabriel was standing on the other side of the refrigerator door and was murmuring something that Jody couldn't hear. It must have been something humorous for Sam smiled a tiny bit. His earlier stiffness had lessened and he seemed more at ease with the situation. Jody's eyes softened; those pills Dean had told her about were working after all.

Normally, if Sam were in such a stressful scenario, he would've had to take several breaks to control his breathing and bring his mind back to where it was meant to be. Jody had seen the poor man at his worst moments and she was proud of how far he'd come. It was also nice to see the support he received from his friends and family. God knows that he needed it.

She couldn't help but wonder, though, how Sam was really dealing with all the crap that'd been going on. Surely he was just as stressed out as the rest of them, if not worse. How could he remain so calm? Especially after quivering like a leaf earlier. And he happened to know the deceased barista's name? The press hadn't released any of the victims' names yet. At least, not to Jody's knowledge.

Could Sam have interacted with this Balthazar fellow? If so, perhaps he also knew who killed him. Sam had been pretty agitated by her taking him in for an interrogation. She wanted to kick herself for being so...cop-y, but Jody's mind automatically made accusations. Which was ridiculous.

Sam Winchester didn't kill that man. That was absurd; he was a good kid. Jody had known him for a long time now and would trust him with her life. Then again, since his anxiety flared up, Sam had been a different person. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Sam had been the one to- no. Absolutely not. That attack had been brutal.

The sight of that poor man's mutilated body was burned into her brain. Blood had been everywhere, splattered all over the pavement. It drenched the whole alleyway; whoever had stabbed Balthazar obviously had intentionally allowed room around the knife to allow the spurt of arterial blood.

While Jody didn't have to see that actually happening, she was exposed to the slow sludge of blood that oozed from the wound after her partner extracted the knife. And if that wasn't gross and disturbing enough, Balthazar had died with his eyes wide open. Jody shuddered at the memory of his glazed over, foggy blue eyes. Like the eyes of a dead fish. Sam wouldn't- couldn't have done such a thing...right?

“Jody?”

She jumped in fright. Cas instantly halted as though Jody were a startled animal debating on whether or not to fight or to flee. His eyes were wide but held a gentle splash of understanding in their azure hues. He even quirked his mouth up into a harmless smile. Anything to calm Jody down. It worked surprisingly well and Jody breathed out softly.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were cold? We have extra coats, if you need one,”

“Oh. Thanks, Castiel, but I'll be alright,”

“If you're sure,”

“Hundred percent. Don't worry,”

Cas didn't look convinced. Jody sent him a warm smile of reassurance.  
  
"Really, Cas, I'm fine,"  
  
Castiel remained skeptical but thankfully dropped the subject. Jody noticed that he hadn't spoken during her entire visit until that moment. When he turned away to help Dean with his coat, she also noticed a darkness in the man's gaze that was similar to the one in the eldest Winchester brother's. If she didn't know any better, it would seem like Dean was in grieving and Cas was acting as his emotional support. Part of her wanted to ask what had happened, but neither man looked like they wanted to speak too much about it.

As the five of them finally left the apartment, Jody found herself profiling the four men accompanying her. While she didn't want to invade the boys privacy like that, Jody did have a job to do. Her personal relationship with them would have to be placed on hold. At least until the murder was solved. Jody closed her eyes; there shouldn't have been a murder in the first place.  
  
It was that damn Lucifer convict. She wasn't about to tell the Winchester family about how the psychopath had gotten away; it was too embarrassing and there was enough shit on their minds. But he was the true source of her short-temperateness. Jody brought her hand up to her mouth and began chewing nervously at her nails. It was no wonder everyone was on edge; her own nerves had been shot to hell.  
  
She and the rest of the police force had been searching for Lucifer for weeks now and there hadn't been a single lead until recently. To make matters worse, she wasn't even sure if this was her guy. The murders hadn't matched up to Lucifer's signature. The kills, if compared to his, were sloppy and careless. It sickened her to even think that way and she shivered.

“You okay there, warden?”

Jody glanced at Gabriel, who walked beside her in the cramped stairway. Though she could not see his face in the darkness, his voice had held a note of concern. ' _Great, the guy who hates me is worried. Nice poker face, Officer_ ,' Jody thought dryly. She sighed and shook her head; no point in lying.

“Nope. I'm at my limit. God, I just want all of this to be over. You know what I mean?”  
  
Gabriel shifted his gaze from her and focused on Sam. Jody lifted her eyebrows in surprise as his shoulders slumped. Her eyes flicked from the oblivious man walking ahead of them to the gloomy one trudging next to her. Did she miss something? Had something happened between this stranger and the youngest Winchester? Gabriel chuckled humorlessly.

“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May Chuck bless you all~!


	6. Inadvertent Poignancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slightly graphic description and suicidal thoughts ahead. Please do not read if you are triggered by such things or if you are squeamish.

**Present day  
**   
Sam shakily lifted his head, coughing out the last bit of blood from his mouth. Dark red splotches stained the dirt and the remains of his blue plaid shirt. The bare skin of his torso prickled in the open dusty air and the tatters of his ripped clothing felt ticklish as they danced over his skin with each heave.

His arms and legs- both spread as wide as they could go- ached and the metal encasing his wrists and ankles rubbed excruciatingly against the bone. Sam was certain that the skin there had become raw and was more than likely beginning to split into open wounds. His back spasmed, causing Sam to arch awkwardly- his head jolting back to smack against the wood behind him- and a silent yell of pain flexed his mouth open wide.

This sudden movement caused yet another bout of violent retching. Dry heaving, Sam felt something in his right eye pop and a burst of agony nearly blinded him. The gashes on his stomach reopened with a barely audible ripping sound and his abdomen flared with throbbing, irritating heat. Wetness oozed stickily down his stomach and soaked into the waistband of his jeans and boxers.  
  
Finally, the coughing fit ceased and Sam was able to breathe again. Spittle dotted the corners of his mouth and a string of red tinted drool oozed down his chin. It lay grotesquely over the stubble on his jaw, which itched tremendously. His bruised chest heaved as his lungs struggled to re-inflate themselves. Wheezing gasps squeezed out of Sam's throat in wispy puffs in the frigid air.  
  
“Well, this is a surprise. You're not at all what he said you'd be,”  
  
Despite the chilling temperature, beads of sweat trickled down Sam's forehead as he blearily glanced up. He hadn't heard a voice in so long; Sam was almost desperate for human interaction. The only person who had spoken to him during this long torturous exile had been his kidnapper. But that voice...that voice was new. Sam blinked hard and his vision cleared somewhat.  
  
A figure stood in the shadows.

 **October 4** **th** **. 8:05 am.**

Silence. Nothing but buzzing, stimulating silence. Nick cattily smirked from his hiding spot beside the sliding glass door on the balcony- here he thought that this would be a challenge. Hah! Was he in for a treat! Sam's apartment was completely empty and that meant it was time to explore. Nick felt his eyes crinkle as a devilish grin lit up his face.

“Let's see what hidden treasures you have for me, Sam,” he hissed deviously as he slipped into the bedroom and slid the door shut behind him. The latch made a loud audible click as it closed. Nick froze, his instincts automatically screaming for him to be absolutely quiet.

His eyes flicked around the small room and his ears strained for any sign of movement. The only other noise in the lonely apartment was Nick's harsh, shallow breathing as it wheezed from his chest through his nose. And, although it was dark, his eyes picked up on nothing suspicious, having adjusted to the inkiness of the bedroom rather quickly.

Regardless, his muscles tensed like coiled springs, preparing his body in case Nick needed to make a rapid escape. Then a surge of laughter rose in his chest, bursting through his lips and filling the quietude of the room with cackling hilarity. Escape? There was no need!

Sam and the other half-wits had left the apartment mere moments ago; he had just stepped foot on their balcony when he heard the front door make its signature squeaky slam. Ducking down so no one could see him, he had waited and listened with growing glee as the sound of the police sirens and a rumbling motorcycle blared down the street.

Judging from the direction the engines seemed to be going, Nick assumed that his target was on his way to the police station. This could mean one of two things: Sam was on his way to assist the sheriff with her chaotic mess that was her station or he was going to be questioned for the recent murders. Either way, Nick was in the clear to do whatever he wanted.

Giddy with the opportunity at hand, he excitedly turned away from the glass and rubbed his hands together wickedly; so many things to see, to touch- to experience! Nick didn't know where to start. He was like a kid in a candy store. Thankfully, his feet seemed to understand where to go and moved as though on autopilot to Sam's bureau.

Nick ripped open the top drawer with ease, the wood sliding with a protesting creak. His heart leapt into his throat; Sam's scent wafted up from the soft cotton shirts neatly folded in the drawer's cradle. Nick's hands and fingers trembled as he gently removed one of the shirts. This one was black with a picture of what appeared to be a greyhound on its front.

A shudder trembled all the way down Nick's spine; he had never seen Sam in anything but plaid. He gulped and licked his lips. Should he? Nick gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, thinking as his thumbs rubbed against the soft fabric. Sam had worn this article of clothing at some point. It had been against that smooth, tanned skin...had possibly absorbed some of his sweat.

The thought made Nick's mouth water. Of course, the shirt had been washed, but he had a sensitive sense of smell and if he was correct...it would still be there. The urge was too strong to resist and he slowly brought the t-shirt up to his nose. The feel of the cotton against his face wasn't as wonderful as he imagined Sam's skin to be, but that wasn't what Nick was after.

His eyes fluttered shut and Nick took in a deep inhale. Aha! There it was! The essence of fragrance that was Sam Winchester was embedded into that shirt. Mmm, intoxicating! Nick pressed the fabric to his nose and tipped his head back as he took in more of the aroma. It was practically orgasmic, that scent. Nick felt as though he had just discovered a new drug and it belonged to him alone.

A sinister chuckle tickled against his lips; Sam was one drug that Nick was truly desperate for. Nick took the shirt with him as he crossed the room and lay on the bed. The blankets were like caressing hands along his skin as Nick sprawled out against the warm sheets. Sam's smell was more powerful here and the lust-sick killer was blissfully drowning in it.

“I don't think I can wait any longer, Samuel,” Nick whispered huskily, “Won't you let me have you?” A heavy sense of loneliness washed over him like a wave. It wrapped around his chest and squeezed tightly, drawing the breath from his lungs. He pressed the shirt against his lips and curled up into the fetal position, his too-big-shoes making squeaking noises as they rubbed together.

It wasn't like Nick to get so emotional over a victim; usually he would like them, kill them, and it was over with. Sam was...was different. There was something about him that drove Nick to the brink of obsession. At first, Sam had been nothing but a pretty new toy for him- one that he could easily break. But now that Nick was experiencing what it was like to have Sam's essence right in his hands like this...it was overwhelming.

Lying in the very sheets that had held Sam's practically nude body every night, the shirt that'd clung to those broad shoulders and hugged those muscles, and actually being in the room Nick peered into through his camera lens every night as he watched Sam sleep and pleasure himself. Nick's stomach fluttered and his breath caught in his throat.

Yes, Sam Winchester had definitely become more than a simple toy to have and destroy. If he didn't know any better, Nick would think that he had fallen in love with the long-haired Sasquatch. However, the killer knew that this could not be the case; Sam was nothing more to him than a slippery victim that was a little too smart for his own good.

And yet...Nick took another big inhale of the manly, sweaty scent of the t-shirt and felt a vicious desire to have the real thing in his arms. Not to harm or to torture, but to simply lay there with him. ' _Cuddling_ ,' his subconscious told him, ' _What you're thinking of is called cuddling_.' Nick felt a lump rise in his throat; things were worse off than he thought.

Sam was supposed to be just another addition to his hit list. He wasn't meant to become anything other than that. Let alone something that caused Nick to react in such a way. Could he really have feelings for Sam? More so than the desire to kill him and sip his blood? His fluttering heartbeat and his throbbing lower regions said otherwise.

Although his body reacted with excitement, the crushing loneliness remained, fading into a depressing phase of frustration. Sure, it was great to be in the same bed that Sam stimulated himself in, but Nick genuinely wanted the real thing. He wanted Sam in all his naked glory. He wanted to have Sam do such filthy things in front of him.

He wanted to document every facial expression the man could convey. Nick desperately wanted Sam to be on his back, spread out before him like a tantalizing meal. He wanted to run his tongue along that lovely skin and taste the fear and disgust that would surely emanate from his beautiful Winchester. But most of all, Nick wanted to know all about Sam's blood.

Was it a dark crimson? Did it have a metallic odor or was it musky smelling like he was? Would it thickly ooze over Nick's fingers or would it cascade in tiny rivets through the creases of his palms? What noises would Sam make? Would he scream? Oh, Nick wanted to know it all. Every little thing that made Sam who he was. Nick didn't want to miss a single morsel.

His eyelids shut and a shiver rippled down his neck. Goosebumps prickled along the flesh of his arms and legs. His tongue darted out and flicked up then down, as though Sam's chest were there and all that delicious blood was coating his taste-buds with its sweetness. His hands reached and grabbed at the sheets with his fingers clawing.

A flash of white and then absolute satisfaction. A contented sigh escaped from Nick's nostrils like a dragon's smoke. His body gradually relaxed and his thoughts began to sway into a foggy, dream-like state. His breathing slowed and, after a few more minutes of fantasizing, Nick was asleep. On Sam's bed. Inside the Winchester's apartment.

Now, it wasn't like the serial killer had necessarily planned on sleeping on his target's bed, but he just couldn't help it. The pillow was so soft and warm and smelled like the fancy shampoo that Sam used. The blankets were made of a consolatory material that enveloped Nick in a soothing cradle of security.

And besides, he was exhausted from his reckless means of getting there in the first place. He deserved some rest. With a tiny hum of happiness, Nick snuggled further into the mattress, the tag of Sam's shirt tickling the tip of his nose. The rain continued to pound outside, lulling Nick into a deep slumber.

 **October 4** **th** **. 10:51 am.**

Every nerve in Sam's body seemed to flinch as another phone blared off its insistent ring. From his spot on a row of hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs, Sam glared icy daggers towards the officer sitting behind the main lobby desk. The crying telephone remained unanswered as the blatantly ignoring cop leaned back in his office chair and chugged the last bit of coffee from a smudged Styrofoam cup.

Sam felt his nose crinkle in disgust as he watched, horrified, as the man stuck out his abnormally pale long tongue into the cup and trailed it along its rim. Instantly, Sam hated him. Between the phone ringing off the hook and the gross ass display of gluttony, Sam had had enough. Yes, his crossness was mainly based off of the fact that he hadn't had his medication that morning, but the unfurling events added to the effect.

“God, I'm freezing!” Dean grumbled, rubbing at his arms. His rough hands on the leather of his jacket caused a sound that grated annoyingly against Sam's eardrums. Gritting his teeth, Sam rolled his eyes nearly into the back of his head. He was already irritated that the four of them had been in the damn station for nearly three hours now and Dean being a baby about the temperature wasn't helping. That phone was still warbling.

“Dean, we're all cold. Complaining about it won't fix the thermostat,” he snapped. His brother snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. Sam pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to calm down. Between the phone going off every five minutes, the icy air nipping at any exposed skin, and the fact that his ass was going numb from sitting in one place for hours on end, Sam was about ready to snap.

The phone quieted and left a phantom ringing in Sam's ear. He barely had any time for relief for, like clockwork, the same damnable phone began to ring not even four minutes later. Sam jumped up and ripped the receiver from its cradle. His eyes were almost black with livid rage. The ringing cut off abruptly and a frantic voice could be heard saying hello.

As Sam slammed the phone back down, he sent a fiery glare at the cop, who shrunk down, his hands up near his face just in case. Sam sat with a huff, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Castiel, who was sitting on Dean's other side, stiffened and nudged Dean lightly with his shoulder. A bit shell-shocked, Dean glanced over at him and Cas unclasped his hands from their locked positions on his knees.

“I believe Jody said we could help ourselves to coffee. Dean, would you go with me? I'm sure Sam would like some as well. It'll warm us up, at the very least,”

“Uh, fine. B-but only cause I feel like I'm about to turn into a freaking snowman,”

“I think you're exaggerating, Dean. Sam, we'll be right back,”

Sam dismissively waved them off and hunched in on himself with a grumble. The phone was ringing again; whoever he'd hung up on was persistent. If that cop didn't answer soon, Sam was going to choke him with the cord. His ears pulsed uncomfortably as the ringing finally ceased, thus contributing to Sam's already twitching, fidgeting body. He just wanted to go home. His bed was calling to him.

Cas and Dean shared a knowing, exasperated look and together walked down the hall. The station wasn't that hard to navigate; there were only a few offices that were crammed towards the front of the building. Cas led the way, his eyes fixated on the raindrop covered glass door with backwards white lettering that read ' _City Police Department_ '.

Trailing close behind, Dean took in the state the poor building was in. Jody had mentioned that things were hectic, but this was ridiculous. The brown cork of the two bulletin boards in the main hall was so choked with wanted posters and various other papers that the green tiled floor looked like a library had puked on it.

The offices were no different. Dean paused briefly outside of one and saw an older man with gray-streaked black hair sitting at a desk. Well, he was hunched over the desk rather than sitting at it. His entire office was littered with stray papers, yellow bills, and a fallen coffee mug in the corner with a mysteriously old dark stain by it. A dingy window with crooked blinds allowed the flash of lightning to be seen for just a moment, reminding Dean of the terrible weather raging outside.

While the space he was in looked like a twister had torn through it, the officer himself seemed to be in worse condition. A tan jacket lay draped over the back of his high-backed brown swivel chair and a matching white-striped tie lay like a limp snake over his neck. His white button down shirt hung wilted over his broad chest and was bunched up at the sleeves.

And, although Dean couldn't see his face, a bushy gray and black mustache could be seen peeking out from behind the guy's palm. Exhaustion and exasperation oozed from the poor officer and Dean noticed that the man had a clunky black rotary dial phone on one side of him. He also had a bright yellow ashtray on his other side that was currently smoking enough to cause worry.

_Boom!_

The officer didn't even flinch as a bout of rumbling thunder rattled the building and caused the humming fluorescent lights to flicker dangerously. The man simply remained frozen in his current position: right hand gripping the phone pressed to his ear while the others' fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, a cigarette burning between the webbing of his index and middle fingers.

“Ma'am, I know you're scared. But I told you before that there is nothing we can do at this time. If you have any more questions, just listen to the damn radio. I don't-,” he said wearily before he was abruptly cut off by a shrill woman's voice on the other line of the telephone. Her shrieking was so loud, Dean could hear it from his spot by the door.

He took that as his cue to keep walking. Jogging a little, Dean caught up with Cas, who was waiting a bit impatiently by the door of the break-room. Thankfully, his best friend said nothing and merely tilted his head in question. Dean sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck as he glanced around the hallway again. He could literally feel the stress and tiredness like pulsing waves through the air.

“This is worse than Jody described, man. I've seen subways in better condition than this place! Seriously? All this for one guy? He must be one hell of a killer for the whole force to be on edge,”

“I agree. Just a moment ago, I watched an intern have an emotional breakdown underneath her desk because she accidentally knocked over a trashcan,”

“You try to help her?”

“Yes, but she just curled into a ball and started crying hysterically. No matter what I said or did, she would not respond to anything,”

Dean winced as apparent said intern's sobbing could be heard from the other room. Castiel shook his head unhappily and opened the door to the break-room. Or rather he tried to open the door. The hinges creaked loud enough to make both men cringe, but the door barely budged. Cas shoved hard against it- an unknown force on its other side prevented further movement.

With a few thrusts of his shoulder, Cas managed to inch the door open bit by bit. Grunting with effort, he leaned back and put all of his weight into one final hit. The door groaned and Cas stumbled as it swung open. He took a single step inside then immediately recoiled in revulsion and horror.

Dean took one whiff and nearly gagged at the overpowering scent of trash, stale coffee, and dirty water mixed with lemon bleach. The two stepped gingerly over the coffee grounds, blackened banana peels, and old take-out containers with flies buzzing lazily within the rotted food remains.

“Gross,” Dean complained, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. Cas made a disgusted noise of agreement as he carefully avoided a sticky mess of curdled milk, creamer, and ripped apart sugar packets. The only part of the break-room that was still relatively clean was the old Mr. Coffee machine and a semi-circle of the counter it was sitting on.

A stack of white Styrofoam cups were wedged behind the little coffeemaker. They were a bit dingy and the plastic covering them had a thin layer of gritty film that was greasy to the touch. Castiel and Dean stood hip to hip in the small clean area, their shoes making squeaks and squelches in the gross debris covering the tile by the counter. Dean set to work on cleaning out the coffeemaker and replacing its contents with new coffee and water.

Cas took charge of taking out the cups and setting the correct amount of sugar packets, miniature creamer containers, and little black stirring straws by each cup. While waiting for the coffee to be ready, Dean glanced over casually and noticed that his friend was staring blankly at a packet of sugar. His brows scrunched just slightly, the corners of his mouth turned down a bit, and there was a distant look in those blue eyes that worried Dean.

“Cas?”

His friend didn't answer right away. The only acknowledgment that Castiel had even heard him at all was a subtle tick of his head in Dean's direction. His jaw clenched and Dean braced himself for Castiel's sudden anger. But the man simply shook his head fiercely and fixed his blazing intense gaze dead-on with Dean's bemused one.

“We have to help these people,”

“What?”

“Even if we can't do much, I think we ought to make an effort,”

“What the hell are we gonna do? We're just three guys who own an antique shop! Not exactly cop material, Cas,”

“I don't know, but I know that we have to do something,”

“Why?”

“It's the right thing to do,”

Dean paused, the wheels in his brain turning on overdrive. While he knew that Castiel was right, he wasn't sure if the three of them were up to the task. Especially with Gabriel now in the picture. Sure, the guy was related to Cas, but Dean still didn't trust him. Granted, Dean trusted Gabriel more than that Nick dude, but that was beside the point.

“Cas, I don't-,”

“Dean, it will give us all a sense of purpose. Since Mayor Braeden informed us all to remain indoors, we've been going, as you say, stir crazy. It hasn't even been a full day yet!”

Dean considered this; it had only been mere hours since Lisa quarantined the town and he could feel his palms itching for something to do. And, judging from Sam's sudden irritability, he was feeling the strain, too. Cas was, again, correct about their beginning cabin fever; he had their best interests at heart, as always.

“I know that it might seem tedious, but-,”

“Alright,”

“You...agree with me?”

“Yeah. You're right, Cas, we're all going nuts. Sam, especially. And I think we can give this a shot,”

Cas blinked in relieved surprise and smiled one of his rare grins that only Dean had been so fortunate to witness. The sight of it sent fluttering butterflies tickling in Dean's stomach. To hide his attraction, he cleared his throat and poked Cas in the center of his chest.

“Just so you know, you're doing most of the work since this was your idea,”

Cas dropped his smile and scowled. He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side in a sassy manner. He stared at Dean blankly then rolled his eyes with a wry snort through his nose. His voice oozed with dry sarcasm.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Dean laughed and clapped his hand on Castiel's shoulder. Then he turned, took the coffeepot in his hand and carefully poured the steaming liquid into the four cups. As he was placing the pot back in its spot, Cas filled each cup with different amounts of sugar and creamer.

“Sam's gonna love this,”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Kid loves to play detective. I even made him a fake F.B.I. badge once,”

“And I'm sure you made one for yourself as well,”

“What? No, I- Maybe. Shut up,”

Cas chuckled. Dean's lips quirked up into a smile of his own, though he tried to hide it. They gathered up the coffee and gingerly made their way out of the disgusting break-room. The moment they returned to the paper scattered hallway, the sobbing intern rushed passed them, her arms filled with manila folders. Loose papers flew out behind her and she ran towards the copying room, tears flying down her face.

Cas and Dean stared after her then continued walking. The pair was just reaching the end of the hall when both men stopped dead in their tracks. Dean blinked hard a few times to check to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him; they were not. An abandoned jacket lay shrewdly across the row of plastic chairs.

Sam was gone.

Big brother mode immediately activated in Dean's mind and he set the coffee cups down on the counter of the main desk. “Sam! Sammy!” he called out. When there was no answer, Dean visibly clenched his jaw. Cas quickly placed the two cups in his hands down and trailed behind Dean as he went around the desk to face down the cop still leaning back in his swiveling chair.

Dean leaned forward, slapping his palms flat on the wood counter-top. The skinny cop lazily peeked an eye open and gushed out an obnoxious sigh. He shoved himself into a sitting position and scooted forward until his chest hit the bar of his table. Filmy blue eyes stared back at Dean's flaming green as the young cop lazily looked up at him.

“What do you want, geezer?”

Cas' hands involuntarily clenched into fists; this man- no, this _boy_ , was already getting on his last nerve. Dean ignored the cop's nasally, drawn out tone of boredom and gestured with his left hand over towards the empty row of chairs. The kid didn't even glance in that direction.

“Where did he go?”

“Who?”

“The man who was sitting there! Where'd he go?!”

“No idea who you're talking about, old man. You must be delusional, cause I didn't see nobody,”

“You're really starting to piss me off, douchebag,”

“Oh. I'm so scared. Listen, gramps, I didn't see no one before you started bothering me and I don't see them now, so fuck off and change your diaper or something,”

“Why you-,”

Suddenly, the spindly young cop was yanked forward by his tie, his chin slamming hard against the counter. Cas glared down at the now freaking out officer, his brow raised and his eyes dark and commanding. His fist bunched up the kid's shirt and the other gripped at the edge of the desk.

“My friend asked you a question, you heathen. You need to answer him directly and truthfully. Otherwise, I'll wring your sorry neck with your own tie. Got it?”

The shaking cop froze, his eyes wide enough to show the whites all the way around. When he didn't answer right away, Cas gave him a small yet forceful tug closer. Nose to nose, Cas tilted his head and his lip curled ever so slightly. Dean watched with a mixture of pride and a bit of fear. And sure, possibly a scrap of arousal because damn!

“Answer me,”

“Y-yeah. I-I got it, man. Can you let go of me?”

“You aren't allowed to ask questions. You need only to answer mine. Period. Now, our friend...where is he?”

“I don't-,”

Cas tightened his grip and the cop choked. Dean laid a hand on his friend's arm and Cas shot him a look that sent shivers of fervor through him. Dean jerked his head a smidgen- a signal to say ' _maybe chill out just a little_ '. He waited, a bead of sweat trickling down his spine. Castiel squinted and reluctantly loosened his grip.

The cop, panting with fear at this point, gulped haltingly. Poor guy looked like he was about to piss his pants. Dean didn't let pity cloud his judgment and moved forward so the cop could see his expression. In a deathly calm voice, Dean asked the man again where Sam was. The cop whimpered pathetically and both Cas and Dean could see tears forming in his eyes.

“Describe him! I honestly don't know who you're talking about,”

“Tall, long hair, wearing a long sleeved gray shirt. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, oh, him! Yeah, yeah! I know who you mean now! He left when you guys did. I thought he was with you!”

“You said you hadn't seen anyone! Don't lie to me,”

“I'm not! I swear! He walked out when you two did! I promise, that's all I know! Please don't break my face. I'm begging you, man,”

Before Castiel could further question the cop, who had secretly wet himself, Jody and Gabriel emerged from the interrogation room. Poor Gabe looked as though he'd gone through electroshock therapy. Jody herself seemed exhausted and frustrated beyond all means. She briefly glanced at the mewling cop and fixed her hawk-like gaze on Cas and Dean.

“Whoa, hold it. What's going on here? Dean?”

“Sam is missing. Pencil-neck here says that he booked it when Cas and I went to go get coffee,”

“Oh, god. He could be anywhere. And without a jacket! He's gonna catch his death in this weather,”

Cas released the pathetically whining officer, who scrambled down the hallway, and worriedly glanced out the window. The rain slashed against its glass pane and lightning glared brilliantly. It made no damn sense; why would Sam run away? And in such terrible weather? If he didn't know any better, Cas would think that Sam was...oh no.

“Dean!”

Cas grabbed his best friend by the arm in a fierce grip that cause Dean to wince.

“What?!”

“Sam...did he take his medication this morning?”

“I don't-,”

“Think, Dean! Did he take it?!”

Dean stopped, his eyes dropping to the floor. A tense silence filled the room as the other three waited in horror-stricken anticipation. The moment Dean's expression shifted from concentration to ashen realization, Cas knew that his fear had been true; Sam was without his meds. This meant that, at any given moment, Sam could have one of his jarring attacks and there would be no one around to help him.

Sam was a strong person and he could deal with a lot of things; however, the anxiety attacks that struck while he was off his medication were something that not even he could handle alone. Dean abruptly slammed his fist on the desk, making everyone jump. His teeth were bared and a look of absolute pain and guilt shone in his eyes.

“Damn it! I should've seen the signs. The restlessness, the way he was scrunching in on himself, the fucking irritability! He was already having an attack. He was trying to tell me that he needed me and I didn't listen. Now he's out in the storm and I have no way of finding him,”

“Dean, you can't blame yourself. He-,”

“Jody, I'm his brother. I'm supposed to be there to- to protect him!”

“We couldn't have known that he would disappear like this,”

“Cas, I should have been paying attention. This could have been avoided if I had just-,”

“Oh, cry me a river, would ya?”

Everyone turned and stared in shock at Gabriel. He was standing by the chair Sam had previously been sitting in. In his hand, Gabe held the jacket. A black motorcycle helmet was clenched in the other. He stared at Dean with an almost mocking look on his face. He lifted a free hand and gestured circles in the air as he spoke.

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Instead of groaning that you're a neglectful brother, focus on where the guy went. Think to yourself: if I were Sam Winchester, where would I go to be a drama queen?”

When no one answered, Gabriel slung the jacket over his shoulder. He saluted with two fingers to his forehead and spun on his heel. As he approached the door, he paused and looked back over his shoulder at Jody, Cas, and Dean. His normally playful expression had vanished and Gabriel was sober with seriousness.

“I'll find him and bring his unhappy ass back here. You two, stay with Miss Warden here. And before you dumbasses try to play hero and say you're coming with me, tough shit cause I only have one motorcycle and none of you are riding it,”

“Gabriel, you-,”

“What'd I just say, Cassy?”

“No, I- be careful,”

Gabriel seemed surprised at this and like the flip of a switch his cocky, jouster attitude returned. He winked and turned away again. He had not even taken a single step when Dean called out to him. Gabriel glanced at the eldest Winchester with a mildly annoyed expression. Dean ignored this and pointed a threatening finger in his direction.

“You do anything to my brother and I'll kill you,”

“The fact that you'd threaten the only source of rescue Samsie has right now really says something about your character,”

“I mean it, Gabriel, I'm trusting you on this. Don't make me regret it,”

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy, I get the testosterone challenge. Be back in a few! Wish me luck, assholes!”  
  
And with that, Gabriel vanished into the rain. A few moments later, the rumbling engine of his bike roared to life and gradually faded as he rode down the street. Dean's shoulders slumped; he couldn't lose another family member. Not again. Not after his mom and- and Benny. He just couldn't do it.

Cas and Jody both noticed Dean's distress and sighed. Cas gently laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, who looked up at Cas with his eyes full of open despair and hopelessness. Jody took Dean's hand- the one on the counter- and unclenched it from its tight fist and held it in hers.

“He'll be okay, Dean. Gabriel will find him,”

“Sam is a strong boy. He'll make it through this,”

Dean looked from Cas to Jody to Cas again. His heart swelled with misery and suddenly his exhaustion caught up with him. It struck him like an 18-wheeler truck and a pulsing migraine started up in its wake. Cas led him over to the plastic chairs and sat down with him. Jody grabbed two of the four cups of coffee and handed them over. Dean glowered into the murky brown liquid.

“He'd better find him...I hope he finds him.”

 **October 4** **th** **. 11:32 am**.

Sam trudged angrily through the soggy grass and huddled beneath the town center's tree. Its broad leaves helped to shield him from the pounding rain but only a little. A tremendous shiver wracked his frame as a gust of wind brushed over his sodden arms. Sam shoved his hands under his armpits and scowled. He really wished he hadn't discarded his jacket.

His arms and chest didn't feel confined anymore, but now Sam was freezing. Not to mention that his thin shirt was sticking to him in ways that gave his body the impression of being in a strait jacket. His hair plastered itself to his face like a clingy octopus and Sam had to squint in order to see out into the darkness. He was surprised that the streetlamp posted near the tree was still lit, though it was flickering dangerously.

Its orange beam bathed over Sam and he found himself grateful for it; the sky was pitch-black with the storm and the surrounding area looked like a scene from a horror movie. The nearby benches creaked and groaned in the wind and the tree shook with each heavy raindrop. Sam covered his ears like a two year old as thunder boomed overhead. He hated this. His irritation had faded by now and now he was beginning to seriously regret leaving his brother and friends back at the police station.

What was he thinking, running away during a thunderstorm? His skin crawled with cold and wetness. Sam felt his throat tighten up and the beginnings of a gag choked him; the feeling of absolute revulsion at the rain on his flesh was so powerful it twisted his stomach into knots. He was going to be sick. And to make things even worse, the back and front lobes of his brain thrummed with pain, causing Sam to stumble almost drunkenly back against the tree.

With its rough bark on his spine, Sam slid down the trunk to collapse onto the mulch. His back flared with heated agony as he did so. He knew that the bark had scraped up the skin there, but he didn't care. Sam didn't care about anything in that moment. All he wanted was to go home. He didn't want to be alone anymore. Maybe he did at one point, but that was his twisted mind talking. His heart cried out differently. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face into his folded arms.

He immediately jerked his head up and away from the wet cloth. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and bit at his lower lip to keep from crying out in frustration. Could things get any worse? Rumbling sounded nearby and Sam opened his eyes. With his head tilted back the way it was, Sam could see the droplets of rain as they fell from the sky. It was strangely therapeutic and he slipped into a sedated state, forgetting about the rumbling. His body shook with cold and his eyes were beginning to burn from the constant exposure to dripping water but still Sam stared.

_You have nothing left to live for._

He wasn't sad. No, that wasn't it. He didn't feel depressed or anxious or angry. Numb. Yes, there was a good word for it. Sam felt numb- no emotions, no physical pain, and no discomfort. He was just...there. Breathing, watching, existing. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it did make Sam question why he was experiencing it. And why he was there to begin with. Maybe the voices were right; perhaps it was time to end it.

His face twitched as a raindrop struck his cheek, but it remained stoic. He wondered what would happen if he stayed there forever. Would he die? Would he become fused with the tree pressing passive aggressively into his back? Would anyone care if something happened to him? Dean would, he knew, but his brother would get over it. Same with everyone else.

So, what was stopping him from sitting there for the rest of his life? It wasn't like he had anyone who cared enough to come find him. Dean and Cas were off doing their own thing, which Sam did not mind at all. He wanted his brother to be happy and he was...with Cas. And Gabriel...well, Sam did not truly know how Gabriel would react to his going missing.

Which begged the question: why was he here anyway? He had told Sam that it was for family reasons, but his story seemed to be lacking details. Like, for instance, why was he staying with Cas? And what was with the apology after all those years of silence? There was something else going on. But Sam didn't dwell on that for too long.

He heard more rumbling, louder this time. It almost sounded like thunder but not quite. An earthquake perhaps? That would really be the icing on the cake. Sam was about to investigate the noise further when the rumbling got louder then stopped all together. Confused, he turned his head and squinted through the darkness. He couldn't see a thing.

He heard something sloshing in the grass, coming closer and closer. Sam closed his eyes; this was it. He was going to die by the hands of whoever was running towards him so purposefully. Maybe it was the killer. How ironic would that be? He could hear the news now: ' _Local antique shop owner, Samuel Winchester, was found with his throat slit against the town's signature oak tree_.' Sam sighed; he didn't want to die that way.

But he was too tired to fight if something did happen. Should the footsteps growing closer and closer by the second belong to the notorious serial killer everyone was frightened of, well, Sam would be an easy target for them. A rush of self hatred burned through his cold limbs; how could he be so pathetic?

_This is who you are._

“Boy, you must have had some temper tantrum to end up here,”

Sam's eyes flew open. He jerked his head around and saw a breathless, soaked Gabriel standing over him. His hair and face weren't as sodden as the rest of him, but they were wet enough to cause Gabriel to wipe water from his eyes. Sam looked up at the smiling man to his right and felt an odd sense of relief; someone cared enough to go searching for him in the middle of a storm.

With relief came affection and, when Gabriel squatted beside him to check him over for injuries, Sam pulled him closer and hugged him tight. The embrace was awkward and sticky in all the wrong places, but Gabriel hugged him back warmly and Sam was happy that he was there. Then he realized what he was doing and who he was doing it to and quickly released Gabriel.

“Um, sorry,”

“Well, I, uh, ahem, I wasn't expecting that. Not that I minded. Just, uh...never mind. How're you holding up, Samsie?”

“I want to go home,”

Sam was surprised by his honest response. Gabriel nodded sympathetically and began unzipping his coat. Sam stiffened, unsure of what he was about to do. Reaching into the black leather jacket, the other man pulled out a folded and slightly warm brown hoodie. Another surge of affection rushed through Sam as he recognized it to be the one he'd left at the station.

“I figured you'd want this. You look like you're going to turn into a popsicle,”

“Thank you,”

Sam said the words cordially and looked up at Gabriel with a small smile. Gabriel went red and coughed to hide his embarrassment as he handed Sam the hoodie. Sam took it gratefully and slipped it on over his head. Its warmth seeped into his wet shirt and soothed the icy numbness from his limbs. As Sam flipped the hood over his damp hair, a foreign scent wafted over him.

It was like the burst of fragrance that erupts from a variety bag of candy. While it also smelled like...like a warm, sunny day. There was even a tiny, sharp bit of what smelled like cinnamon mixed in there. It smelled like...well, like Gabriel. The aroma was amazingly comforting and Sam found that it set his mind at ease.

“Earth to Samsquatch. Have you heard even a word I've said?”

“Oh. No, sorry, I was...um...thinking. What'd you say?”

“I said that everyone is worried about you. Ol' Dean-o and Cassy almost killed the desk cop just for info about you abandoning ship,”

“Oh, god. I didn't mean to make such a fuss. I just...,”

“Yeah, I got it. The place was bugging you and you felt like you were gonna blow your top. I bet it didn't help that you aren't on your meds either,”

Sam blinked, startled. Gabriel sighed and calmly stood. He stretched out his hand, offering silently to help Sam up. His eyes were soft with understanding and, in the light of the streetlamp, glowed with a golden warmth. Sam swallowed and took his hand, never taking his gaze from Gabriel's.

“Are you alright?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,”

“Welp, can't help you there. I can give you a ride back though,”

Sam couldn't help but shake his head in puzzlement. He'd left in a rage, never looking back once. Dean and Cas might have done their own questioning of the cop, but it was Gabriel who had rushed out into the pouring rain just to find him. Sam was touched and a bit flustered by the gesture, but he was also confused. Why?

“I don't understand why you're doing all of this for me,”

“Doing all of what? Getting on my bike to come get you? Sorry to burst your bubble, gorgeous, but somebody had to drag your ass back to the cops. The Warden still needs to interrogate you,”

Sam went silent. His heart twisted in dismay; he'd forgotten that Jody still needed to ask him questions about the murder. His stomach lurched and Sam felt the urge to be ill. He had been dreading going into that room since the moment Jody had arrived at their apartment.

But Gabriel's comment still made no sense to Sam. He and Sam didn't have the best relationship. Hell, Sam had been awful to Gabriel from the moment he recognized him in the hallway. So, why do all of this? Why search for God knows how long...just to find him?

Sam peeked over at Gabriel, who was looking down at the wet sidewalk. There was a frown pouting his lips and Sam found himself wanting to know what thoughts put it there. Only Sam was too tired to even open his mouth to ask. His exhaustion must have been all over his face for Gabriel gently took his arm and led him through the rain to his waiting motorcycle.

As he walked, Gabriel fought the urge to cry. When he'd come around that tree trunk and saw Sam sitting there, it was like the sky had opened up and the sun had shone through. But his joy was short-lived. Gabriel had seen that expression before, the one that Sam wore in his slumped state of depression.

Sam had been ready to die. He had reached the point where nothing mattered, that if he were to die tonight, no one would care. And it tore Gabriel's heart in two. Because he cared. They all cared. He knew the other side of the story, the part where Dean and Cas and Jody were all worried sick about him. He wanted to be angry with Sam for feeling that death was his only option.

But Gabriel knew that he would be a hypocrite. If it hadn't been for Cas' phone call...he shook his head fiercely. No. He would not think about ' _if_ 's or would could have been. Gabriel was the type to live in the present and focus on what was going on right now. And in that moment in time, Sam needed him.

Sam walked with a sort of stumbling lurch, his eyes blankly focused on the gushy grass beneath his feet. When they had reached the motorcycle, Gabriel handed him his only helmet. Sam frowned slightly and stared at the clunky piece of headgear as though it were some new species of reptile someone had plopped in his hands. Gabriel quirked up an eyebrow and gently pushed the helmet until it touched Sam's chest.

“Put it on, Samsquatch. You need it more than I do,” he said softly. Sam slowly looked up at him, an unreadable look in his eyes. Wordlessly, Sam lifted the helmet and slid it over his head. His mouth was a bit squashed in the foamy jaw piece at the bottom of the helmet, but other than that, Sam was comfortable in the safety gear.

Gabriel slung a leg over the seat and, as he settled down, he felt Sam clamber onto the empty spot behind him. His legs awkwardly pressed up against Gabriel's sides, his knees just barely grazing his rib cage. It wasn't until he felt Sam's arms shyly wrap around his waist and the bulky weight of the helmet pressed into the crook of his shoulder did Gabriel allow himself to sigh in relief; he had found Sam and everything was going to be okay now.

He started up the motorcycle's engine and carefully revved the motor for a few moments, warming up the pipes. Sam involuntarily snuggled closer, the smoke from the exhaust pipes drifting up to heat his denim-clad calves. Gabriel resisted the urge to make a flirty comment and instead cautiously pulled away from the curb.

As the pair made their way down the deserted streets, Sam found himself gradually relaxing. The ride wasn't entirely unpleasant, save for the pelting rain that slashed at the back of his hands. The wind howled and threatened to tear the clothes right from his body, but at least he was getting warm. Sort of.

His legs were in a stage where they were neither icy nor hot. His frontal torso and face felt almost steamy pressed against Gabriel's warm jacket. To his misfortune, this meant that his back was being tortured with impossibly cold air. He moved a bit closer to the man in front of him. Gabriel was being so kind by doing this...tears pricked at the corners of Sam's eyes. He didn't deserve this.

Sam had been the one to run away in the first place. The chaos in the station and the stifling anger that he felt didn't belong to him was just too much for him to bear. He had to get out of there. If he hadn't left when he did...Sam shivered at the malicious thoughts that resurfaced; he would have killed someone.

_Murderer._

' _No! I didn't do it! I didn't go through with the shit you've put inside my head!_ ' he shouted at the menacing voice. He swore he could hear mocking laughter in response to his defensive retort. _Killing yourself would be easier_. Sam shook his head viciously and buried his face into Gabriel's shoulder. He was grateful for the man's company; he didn't want to be alone. Especially not with his own thoughts.

_Make up your mind._

Sam felt the bike slow then come to a rumbling stop. He lurched a bit to the side and quickly put a foot down to keep himself from falling off. He couldn't see much through the visor so he pulled the helmet off. The jaw piece hit against Sam's nose, making his eyes water. He set the headgear down on the seat as he awkwardly got to his feet.

Shock jolted through Sam's heart as he stared up at the entrance to his apartment building. Gabriel sheepishly removed his gloves and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He avoided Sam's incredulous gaze as he, too, got off his bike and shoved the kickstand into place with his heel. Gabriel walked briskly over to the lobby doors and flung one open. He turned his head briefly in Sam's direction and reluctantly met his eyes.

“What? You need your medication and some dry clothes. You wanna freeze to death? Let's go,”

As Gabriel turned and continued walking into the building, Sam found his feet moving on a will of their own. Sam quickly caught up to Gabriel, who had shorter legs. They walked up the stairs silently, neither man looking at the other. Sam felt his earlier uncertainty of Gabriel's motive return with a vengeance.

“Gabriel?”

“Yeah?”

“Explain something to me,”

“...alright, shoot,”

“You told me that you were here because of family issues, right?”

“I told you that in confidentiality, dude,”

“I know, I know. But that doesn't make any sense to me,”

Gabriel stiffened beside him. He didn't appear to be upset, but Sam hesitated regardless.

“What about it doesn't make sense to you?”

There was a slight edge to Gabriel's voice that made Sam's stomach plummet dishearteningly.

“...never mind,”

“No, you opened up this can of worms, tell me,”

Sam sighed and could feel his throat tighten. He had to cough in order to speak again.

“It's just...if you were so mad at your family, why bother staying with Cas? He's your brother. And from what I hear, you two aren't very close. And you acted like you didn't want anyone to recognize you when you came here,”

“If you must know, Cassy called me. He needed me for something and I wasn't about to tell him no. I hadn't heard from him in years! And as for the not being recognized thing...I didn't want you to know it was me,”

“What? Me? Why did you care if I recognized you?”

“Um, hello? You hate me! Do you not remember your reaction when you did see that it was me?”

Sam clamped his mouth shut. Gabriel should have sounded bitter. He should have been screaming at Sam, getting into his face with spittle flying. He should have...but Gabriel just looked at him with a defeated expression. In the darkness, Sam couldn't see the look in his eyes, but Gabriel was tearing up and quickly looked away.

They had reached the Winchester's floor. The silence stretched between them like a massive tarp. Sam kicked the doormat a little to reveal the spare key and stooped to pick it up. He unlocked the door to his apartment with a heavy heart; that conversation had not gone at all the way he'd planned. The key jammed slightly in the lock and Sam groaned internally. It always did this.

Damn it! He jiggled the silver key with a ferocity that startled even Gabriel. Sam was just so done with everything not going the way he wanted them to. He knew it was childish, but all he wanted was to have at least one good day. The key finally turned and the door creaked open as Sam and Gabriel pushed inside.

The living room was pitch-black to the point where neither man could see his hand in front of his face. Gabriel found the abandoned lighter lying on the coffee table and began to light the candles again. Sam took a moment to take a deep breath, wincing as he did so. His exhaustion seemed to stick to his ribs, squeezing at his lungs with each inhale.

He rubbed a hand down his face and approached the door to his bedroom. As he turned the knob, there was a brief moment of hesitation. His whole body locked up as though in fear of what was behind the wood. A flash of anger quickly melted away his frozen joints and allowed him to move again. Being afraid of the dark was a kid's nightmare, not his.

The door creaked loudly and Sam cringed. He really needed to get that fixed. Sam instinctively reached to flip on the light until he remembered that the power was out. Grumbling, Sam shuffled over to his dresser and cried out as his hand struck the wood. Wait, had he left this drawer open? He didn't remember going into his dresser at all that morning.

Frowning, Sam reached into his pocket and took out his cellphone. He clicked it on, hissing as the sudden light nearly blinded him. The battery almost instantly beeped at him, informing Sam that it would die at any second. But a second was all Sam needed. He shone the face of the cellphone at the opened drawer of his dresser.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the clothes within. Sure, a few were a bit rumpled, but other than that there was nothing to cause any alarm. Sam scratched at his head, baffled. He was positive that he hadn't opened this particular drawer...his hand hovered inches away from the cotton shirts inside.

“Are these the right meds, Samalot?”

“What? Don't touch anything! I'll be there in a second!”

Sam quickly pulled out a shirt at random and slammed the drawer closed. He stooped and picked up a pair of old jeans, smelled them, then hurried out of the bedroom. As the door shut behind him, a soft sigh breathed from the slats of Sam's closet door. Huddled amongst the hanging clothes, Nick tried to calm his pounding heart.

That had been far too close. If it hadn't been for the telltale sign of Sam using his spare key, Nick would have surely been caught. He had managed to get into the closet not even a moment after Sam opened the door. Why were they home so early?! Nick gritted his teeth in annoyance, clutching the stolen t-shirt in his fists.

His plan had been going so well too! He had even managed to take his pictures! Damn them! Muffled voices could suddenly be heard through the thin walls between the closet and the living room. Nick pressed his ear against the wall and, through the sound of the inner mechanisms whirring, he could somewhat make out parts of the conversation.

“...not for you to mess with,”

“...posed to know?”

“You...asked me!”

“Chill! Nothing...pend,”

Then silence. Curious, Nick licked his lips and shifted so his ear was pressed completely against the wall. Unfortunately, the air conditioning had kicked on. At first, Nick was so angry, he wanted to punch the godforsaken wall. Until he realized that, if the thermostat was working, that meant the power was back on. Which also meant that the storm was finally dying down.

“Hey! The lights came back on!”

Sam's exclamation further proved Nick's theory. He breathed a sigh of relief; Nick could go home now. While he enjoyed hiding out in Sam's closet, Nick was more comfortable huddling down in his crawlspace with his cameras. It minimized his risk of being caught and he could hear what the hell was going on. Nick rolled over, his back flat against the wall. Now, all he needed to do was get out of there.

He could hear the beautiful exhales as Sam blew out the candles in the living room and his heart melted. He could actually feel his eyes soften and a lovesick whimper vibrating in the back of his throat, waiting to be released. Well, maybe being stuck in here wasn't too bad. A few more hours wouldn't hurt. Right?

The overhead lamp in the kitchen buzzed with electricity and the noise was like music to Sam's ears. As he blew out the final candle, Gabriel walked back into the apartment. He'd gone into his and Cas' apartment to find his own dry clothes. His earlier wardrobe had been completely replaced with comfy looking sweat pants and a maroon hoodie that was a little too big for him.

“' _How many licks does it take to get to the center of my Tootsie Pop? You may never know'_? Really?”

“What? I had it customized,”

“But why that saying? And shouldn't it be: ' _How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?_ '”

“Hell no. That's a Mandela Effect. We're living in an alternate universe, Samsie,”

Gabriel wiggled his fingers and made a silly noise that was supposed to resemble a ghost. Sam couldn't help but chuckle. He was feeling a hell of a lot better since returning home. Medicated and warm in a fresh black t-shirt and jeans, Sam was content. He slumped down on the couch and gushed out a breath. He really did not want to return to the station.

“Want a beer? Or can you not have anything with the magic pills?”

“No, I'll have one. One won't kill me,”

At Gabriel's uncharacteristic silence, Sam peeked an eye open and saw his friend standing in front of the fridge. His hand gripped the handle, but he wasn't moving to pull it open. His eyebrows were scrunched together and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. Concerned, Sam sat up. Weren't they joking around and laughing just a minute ago?

“Gabriel? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine,”

Gabriel opened the refrigerator more violently than necessary. He reached inside and pulled out two beers. His hands were shaking and Sam noticed that Gabriel was avoiding his gaze. Gabriel shut the fridge with his hip and popped the bottle caps off with two sharp strikes against the island counter-top.

He flipped off the light and walked over to Sam, handing him one of the cool beverages without making eye contact. Sam took the beer with a frown. Gabriel sat on the other end of the couch as far away from Sam as possible. What the hell was that about? They had been smushed together on his motorcycle, hadn't they? So why was sitting on the couch now a good reason to put distance between them?

“You-,”

“Why do you want to die, Sam?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the warning helped. Thank you all again for being so supportive!


	7. Don't Sugarcoat It; How Do You Really Feel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Life's been keeping me busy. ^-^' 
> 
> Warning: Talk of suicide, suicidal thoughts, parental abuse (mentioned/implied), heavy depression. If any of these things are triggering for you, please skip that particular part of this chapter or proceed with caution. 
> 
> I love you all.

Sam gulped, his face pinched in consternation. There had been no nickname, no joke, no flirtatious remark; Gabriel was being sincere for once. Realizing that he had said the words plaguing his mind since the moment he saw Sam again out loud, Gabriel buried his head in his hands. Man, he wanted to punch himself so hard. God, why couldn't he keep his big mouth shut?!

Sam had already been through so much today...then Gabriel goes and pops a question like that? _Good going, dickweed. Can't you do anything right?_ Funny. He thought he'd suppressed that voice long ago. Yet it had shown up twice today. And on both occasions, it had been right on the money; he'd fucked up more times than he could count. This was just another one of those moments.

He wondered what could have caused it to resurface. Could it be seeing Sam again? No, thinking of Sam didn't make him think such thoughts. Maybe it was...what he'd been doing...what Gabriel had been trying to do before coming here. His nose prickled and his eyes stung with regret. He tried to hide it, but it was too late; Sam had already seen his friend's stoic expression crumple in self-abasement.

“I don't really know how to- how to answer that,”

Gabriel held back a whimper; why did Sam have to say it like that- that tiny, confused tone like he'd just been shot through the heart? Well, of course he wouldn't understand why Gabe had asked such a personal question! Sam was oblivious to what the other man was feeling...had been feeling for him over the years. All at once, words spilled from Gabriel's lips like water from a shattered aquarium.

“I didn't think that I would find you. When I saw that you were gone, so many stupid thoughts went through this noggin of mine. Were you hurt? Where did you run off to? Hell, I even wondered if your clumsy ass had tripped and fallen into a puddle,”

“Gabriel-,”

“No, Sam! You weren't there. You didn't see how scared everyone was for you. Your brother looked like he was about to flip his lid because the only thing he had left of you was your damn hoodie,”

Gabe's voice broke and his throat bobbed as he tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He lifted his head and Sam could see the tears brimming over his lower lids. Sam bit his lip and glanced down at the carpet. The shard of guilt might as well have torn a hole through his heart at this point. He hadn't known at the time that his disappearing would cause so much grief. If only he had...

“Quit it,”

“What?”

“You're making that same pitiful face your brother made. I bet you're thinking that if you had stayed, none of this would have happened. Well, you know what? You're wrong,”

“I'm wrong?”

“Hells yeah, you're wrong! Wanna know why? Cause you couldn't have stayed put even if you wanted to,”

“...Okay, you've lost me. Care to elaborate on that?”

“Look, before I got here, Cassy explained what happens to you when you're off your meds. Whatever goes on in that head of yours when the pills aren't working their magic, it changes you. You become a completely different person. Almost like Sam Winchester goes and takes a nap while whatever demons you've got take control,”

“What the hell?! Why would he say that?”

“He didn't say all that verbatim! It's really what I've seen for myself! All that numbskull told me was that you were on medication now and that you get scary depressed when you're not on it,”

“You're not making any damn sense. And why would Cas tell you, of all people, all my personal crap anyway?”

“Because-,”

Gabriel trailed off and glared angrily at the bottle of beer clenched in his hand. He wanted to tell the fuming man next to him. He did. But he just...couldn't. Sam felt the sting of betrayal burn through his blood and he tightened his fingers into fists. His blunt fingernails dug harshly into his palm, adding more pain to the ordeal. When Sam spoke again, it was through his teeth in an almost hissing manner.

“Tell me, Gabriel. Why would he tell you such things?”

“Oh, now you're angry,”

“Yes! I'm angry! He invaded my privacy by-,”

“Is that the only thing you got out of that?! He was concerned, you idiot. He saw how bad you were doing and wanted to help. God, it wasn't this cruel ploy to reveal all your dirty secrets. He didn't even tell me everything!”

Sam gritted his teeth and faced Gabriel with his eyes blazing. He wasn't sure why he was so angry with the fact that his friend knew about his mental issues. Maybe it was because he didn't want him to know. Sam didn't want to be known as the guy who couldn't even wake up in the morning without popping back pills like a drug addict. Especially not to Gabriel...

“What all did he tell you?”

“Everything I just told you. That you weren't in a good place at the moment. And before you start yelling again, I was the one who asked him how you were doing. I asked if you were alright. Believe me, it wasn't easy to get him to tell me what he did,”

Wait, what? Sam reeled back, startled and frustrated. He blinked rapidly as he tried to wrap his head around what Gabriel was saying. The other man took an almost desperate swig of the beer in his hand and guzzled down half of its contents. In a daze, Sam watched without realizing as Gabriel's throat clicked and swelled as he swallowed. A tiny stream of beer ran down to the base of his neck; Sam's eyes locked on it with detached fascination.

“You...wanted to know how I was doing? Why the hell do you care? We haven't spoken in forever!”

“You think I don't know that? You think I haven't been counting down the time spent away from you? You think I haven't thought about you every second of every damn godforsaken day?”

“What are you saying? Why would you even do that?”

“You really don't get it, do you?”

Gabriel's defeated tone had sprung back to the surface. As that somber amber gaze slowly moved to rest on Sam, his heart seemed to constrict; Gabe looked so...miserable. He watched as his friend set the beer down on the coffee table and pull out his cellphone from his hoodie pocket. He fiddled a bit with the screen before handing the phone over to Sam.

“Take it,”

Sam did, confused, and looked down at the screen. He saw what appeared to be a series of text messages. All of which were directed to- suddenly Sam felt like the biggest asshole. Each heartfelt message, complete with corny emoticons, had been sent to one phone number: the number that had belonged to Sam during the time he had thrown Gabriel out of his life.

He found himself scrolling through paragraph after paragraph of what could easily be summarized into Gabriel's big confession. He had sent everything he could think of: pictures that reminded him of Sam, GIF sets, song lyrics, poetry, and even one long message about certain circumstances that caused a bright red blush to warm Sam's cheeks.

But what mostly stood out to Sam were the dozens of desperate pleas and apologies all directed to the Sam Winchester that had broken Gabe's heart. A lump rose in Sam's throat as he read years worth of despair and heartache. There were even a couple of angry rants, which were all quickly apologized for. Sam shook his head slowly, unable to fully comprehend what was being presented to him.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because there are people who care about you, Samsie. Even if you might not believe it,”

Gabriel spoke quietly, staring down at the carpet with his hands clasped over his knees. His hair hung in his face, but Sam could still see Gabriel's tormented downcast eyes. The nicknames might have come back, but Gabriel remained solemn. ' _I don't like seeing you like this_ ,' Sam suddenly thought, ' _Stop it. Make a joke. Smile or something. Quit looking like you're about to cry_. _Please._ '

Sam's fingers clawed uneasily at his jeans as the thought stuck to the side of his brain and wouldn't let go. How long had his friend been feeling like this? When Gabriel suddenly rubbed at his eyes, it was as though the fog had lifted and Sam could finally see just how drained and emotionally exhausted he was. The sight was the final punch to Sam's gut and he set the phone down on the coffee table gently.

“Gabriel...,”

“No. No, no, no. You can't just say my name like that. All soft and shit. Not after you were planning to wallow away there beneath that stupid tree. What the hell was going on in that head of yours?”

“What do you want from me? An apology for wanting to die?”

“What? No! Of course not! I just...I want you to not have to feel that way. I don't want you to think there's no way out!”

“It's not like I can just flip a switch and _poof!_ I found my will to live! You really think that I want to be like this? That I want to feel this way all the time? Cause I don't. I don't ever wanna feel this way again, but I can't help it,”

“Sam, I-”

“Do you know how many times I look at myself in the mirror and think why can't I just have one good day? Why does this shit always happen? The medication is supposed to help, but they're still there. The fucking voices that tell me I'm not good enough. That I keep disappointing everyone around me just by existing! Do you know how frustrating that is?”

Sam hadn't been planning on revealing his inner turmoil, but the moment was there and now it was too late to do anything to stop it. His voice had risen a couple octaves and he was certain the neighbors could hear. Not that Sam cared in that moment. Gabriel faced him and the rising storm of emotion in Sam's gut dissipated. A single look from Gabriel and Sam was pulled away from his breaking point.

“I don't know your experience because I am not you, but that feeling you have, Samsie? That...sinking weight that eats away at you and makes you feel like everything you do is wrong? I know that feeling. I know it all too fucking well and it sucks. It sucks so bad and you can't get away from it. Even if you're having a good day and you think you're fine, you're not okay,”

Sam looked at Gabriel- really looked at him- and he could see the familiar darkness. The same crushing pain that whittles away any positive emotion, any possible impression of security in one's own skin. The never-ending disturbance that skulks behind the good feelings and strikes at random, plunging everything into a torturous misery that makes one question everything.

“I don't know why this crap happens and I can't tell you that it will all be okay because we both know that it won't be. Cause this doesn't go away. Even on the good days, it lingers like a bad taste in your mouth and you don't even know why it happens. It just does,”

“Gabriel, how do you know all this? I know...with me it was Jess, but you...you're always smiling. You're always laughing and joking and making others happy. But you just described everything I've been feeling,”

“Because I get it. Look, I'm not great with talking about this crap, Samalot, so just listen, okay? I do the things I do cause I know what it's like to feel so small that you're constantly on the brink of crying. That it hurts so bad you can't breathe. And I don't want anyone else to feel the way I do. Especially not you,”

Gabriel wiped at his face and snatched his cell phone from the table. He glared at it, his hand shaking like a windblown leaf. Sam's stomach clenched as more tears sprung up in his friend's eyes. With a frustrated yell, Gabriel clawed at the tears and slammed his phone down into his lap. Using the heels of his palms, he pressed his hands to his eyes and took in a hissing breath.

“I told you that I had family issues, right? Well, it's more than that. I left that house because I couldn't take it anymore. There was always so much fucking noise. Yelling and screaming and things crashing...it was deafening. Everything was in chaos. Every. Damn. Day. And all for what? To make themselves feel better about something they had no control over! I tried to fix things, to be the mediator and make it all better. Nothing helped. And my stupid brain made it seem like it was always my fault,”

Sam listened, his heart growing heavier and aching deep in his chest. The pain in Gabriel's voice was enough to make any human being sob. Sam wanted to do something- anything- to make him feel better. His own tears formed slowly and spilled over his cheeks without warning; Gabriel was doing the same thing Sam had willed himself not to do: tell his true feelings to someone he cared about.

It seemed like Gabriel, too, wanted to stop the flow of confession and was using all of his willpower not to give every detail away. Sam gulped, his throat dry and constricted with a lump. Without meaning to, he realized that there was an underlying sense of relief in the air. That this was...nice, somehow. Actually talking to someone who understood and letting it all out in the open was rather therapeutic.

Gabriel paused and took in a shuddering, wheezy breath. Sam's hand twitched as the image of his fingers reaching to squeeze his friend's hand in a comforting manner sprung to mind. Part of him wanted to act on the thought, but the other part told him that Gabriel more than likely would flinch away. And Sam wasn't sure he could handle that. When Gabe continued, Sam curled his fingers nonchalantly against his palm. Another time perhaps.

“I know that Cassy will have my pretty head for telling you this but whatever. When we were still in high school- this was before I met you-, my little bro came out to our super religious family as demisexual. While I knew what it was cause, you know, research, they thought that he was some sort of demon meant to tempt them or some shit like that.

“They treated him like he was some sort of outcast, like something that would taint them if they so much as touched a hair on his head. It was revolting. I tried to get him out of there, but he always went back to them. Because that's how he is. He didn't understand that there was nothing wrong with what he was. Hell, the poor kid thought that it was his fault they were so revolted by him,”

Gabriel trailed off, shaking his head in disgust. Sam felt his teeth and jaw clench as he imagined the torment Castiel had gone through. To think that he trusted those people- the people he thought were his family- with such an important secret only to be treated like the scum of the earth. Bitter bile coated Sam's tongue as he realized that that was probably what made Cas so quiet. He was still scared of becoming the black sheep again.

Sam and Dean were the only people he had left, besides Gabriel, who actually cared for who he was as a person. This realization squeezed at Sam's heartstrings. So many things made sense now: why Cas stayed over at their apartment more than his own, why he had wanted to work with the brothers he'd only just met, why he cared so much about the both of them, and most of all, why he acted the way he did around Dean.

Dean was the first person who had treated Cas as an equal, as someone worth being around. He helped Cas answer the questions he'd had since childhood about who he was and what was right and wrong. He showed Cas what it was like to be human- that, yes, you make some pretty awful mistakes in life, but the person you are on the inside isn't one of them.

It made perfect sense to Sam why his older brother had been the one Cas had chosen to fall in love with. At least, that's what he thought anyway. He didn't know the actual reasoning behind when, why, and how Cas had fallen in love with the eldest Winchester; Sam just knew that that's what the man felt for Dean- love... and a whole lot of it at that.

“What about you? I can understand the whole wanting to protect your brother from ridicule, but why would that make you feel so, you know, crappy? It wasn't your fault,”

“Boy, I have to really dig deep in the information grave for you, don't I? I'm pansexual, Sambo. Means I don't have the limitations that other people have when it comes down to who I'm attracted to. Which, in my parents' eyes, also means that I am the whore of the family because I don't conform to their rules,”

“...They treated you worse than you're letting on, didn't they?”

“You don't know the half of it. The day he called...I was gonna do it. I had the blade in my hand and I would have gone through with it. But Cassy talked to me and said that he needed me. That I was the only person who could help him figure out how to make you better. And when I asked him what was wrong...well, it gave me purpose again,”

“Jesus, Gabriel. Why didn't you say anything sooner?”

“Who would I talk to? You practically dropped off the face of the earth, I hardly know your brother and he's kind of a dick anyways, and my own family wanted nothing to do with me. I had nothing left to live for. Alright? But I guess you can say I do now,”

“Wait...wait. Are you...you're saying that you're here...because of me?”

“Not just because of you, but yeah, pretty much. It's cheesy and I'm gonna say it anyway, but your dorky ass has always kinda been my lifeline. You're like a door that opens just for me. A chance to get out of the shithole I've been stuck in for so long,”

Sam's heart fluttered softly like a butterfly's wings. His chest swelled and he couldn't help but look away. Suddenly, he was shy, unable to look Gabriel in the eye. What was wrong with him? All Gabriel was saying was that he thought of Sam as a lifeline. Shouldn't that have triggered his anxiety? It was quite a lot of pressure...but Sam didn't feel anything like he usually would. In fact, he was reacting like a dork with a crush.

Which didn't make any sense. Gabriel was nothing more than a friend from the past- or, well, Sam didn't really know what he had been. Not quite an acquaintance, but also not exactly a friend either. But now...Gabriel had become something like a friend to Sam. At least, at first. Judging from the way Sam's pulse was hammering and his cheeks were flushed, perhaps Gabriel was- Sam shook his head.

No way. Even if Gabriel felt that way towards him, Sam knew that he wasn't ready for a relationship. Jessica's death had been months ago, yes, but Sam still thought of her. And he knew that the guilt would never leave him alone if he decided to act on his newfound attraction to the golden haired man beside him. Sam bit his lip and tried not to focus on how his stomach was flip flopping.

“Why do I feel like there's something you're not telling me?”

“Cause I am. And I'm not gonna tell you now, if that's what you want,”

“You're choosing now to keep secrets?”

“Not keeping it a secret. Just waiting for the right moment,”

“And when would that be?”

“Jeez. You're not always the brightest crayon in the box, are you, Samsquatch?”

“Wow. Thanks for that, you dick,”

Gabriel shakily chuckled and the tense, emotional atmosphere lifted. The talk had been spontaneous and wasn't entirely thought through, but it had served its purpose. Sam felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders; Gabriel appeared to be in the same state. The jester's grin that his friend normally wore returned to its rightful place and he shook himself out with an exaggerated huff. His eyes still bore the pain of the conversation, but the rest of him was bouncing with giddy alleviation.

“Welp, I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one day. Didn't know this would turn into a Dr. Phil session, but hey! Crap happens,”

Sam wiped at his eyes and sniffled, Gabe's words replaying in his head. He had had no idea what his friend had been going through. Sam had merely assumed that he was fine, that Gabe was just being his normal, quirky self. _Hypocrite_. This time, Sam found himself agreeing with the intrusive voice. How many times had Sam acted a certain way to hide how he was truly feeling? More than he could count.

Gabriel stood up and stretched, his back popping. He made an obscene groaning noise and gushed out a sigh. That had been completely mortifying. He hadn't meant to let all his pent up emotional crap spill out like that. Part of him refused to believe that the whole thing had actually happened at all, that he had imagined it. But the look on Sam's face served as a grim reminder of the harsh reality of the situation.

' _Any chance you had with him? Whoosh! Gone out the window there, Gabe, m'boy_ ,' he thought bitterly. Gabriel scratched at his cheek and pivoted on his heel. Sam, startled by the abrupt movement, snapped his head up and watched Gabriel walk around the couch. Those damn eyes of his...they were as beautiful as they were attentive; they could bore a hole through steel if they wanted.

“I'd call your brother, if I were you. He's probably going all worried mother hen right now. I'm gonna take a piss then we can go back to the station,”

“Yeah. Okay. Uh, Gabriel?”

“What?”

“I, um, thanks for taking me home. And for...for opening up to me. It must have...uh, must've been hard to do that,”

“Oh, you're not going to start treating me like I'm some sort of fragile doll now, are you?”

“No! No, why would you think that? God, no. I just...think that it was pretty brave of you to let it all out in the open,”

“Yeah, well, whatever. Just keep your mouth shut about it. I don't want anyone thinking I belong in an institution, okay? And you're welcome, I guess. Now, can I use the bathroom? I'm going to pee my pants,”

“Y-yes, sorry!”

“Don't say sorry to me, tell that to my bladder,”

Sam's mouth quirked up a little in the corner and Gabriel's heart soared. Finally! Something other than a frown. Now if he could get him to laugh, that would make this whole visit worthwhile. His pelvis pulsed threateningly and Gabriel turned away quickly; if he didn't make it to the bathroom soon, he'd have to get the Winchesters a steam cleaner.

“Gabriel?”

“Oh, for fuck's- what?!”

“Sorry! Just...thanks for being here,”

“Yeah, sure, happy to grace you with my presence. Can this wait til after I've pissed? My kidneys are floating here!”

Sam guiltily nodded and Gabriel practically sprinted into the bathroom. As the door was urgently slammed shut, Sam laughed under his breath then glanced over at the abandoned cell phone lying face down on the sofa beside him. He wasn't stupid; he knew that Gabriel would easily reciprocate his feelings. But what he couldn't figure out was: why now, after all this time? And what was with that bleeding heart speech of his? Sam would never have let those words out of his mouth to anyone- not even Dean. So why had it been so easy...with Gabriel?

And this jerky, strange fluttering sensation in his gut? His heart wouldn't be thundering at the speed of light if he didn't feel at least something. His palms were beginning to feel clammy and his ears burned. If his body's reaction wasn't proof enough, there was also the sudden desire to hold Gabriel and never let him go. Nothing made sense except for one sure thing: Sam definitely felt something for his friend. He simply couldn't figure out what had caused the random attraction.

Was it because of the story he'd told about his emotional issues? No, that wouldn't have made Sam feel that way- sad maybe, but romantic? That'd be freaking weird. Was it the fact that Gabriel had in so many words confessed to Sam? That made more sense. Or could it be that, deep down, Sam had always cared about Gabriel and didn't want to see him be in such pain?

Whatever the reason for the newfound feelings bursting within him, Sam knew that his relationship with Gabriel had changed. From the moment he had been discovered beneath that tree- no, the moment Gabriel had hopped on his motorcycle in the pouring rain to come search for him- things became different between them. Sam didn't know what it was exactly, but he was aware of a certain growing connection forming between he and his quirky friend.

“Oh. Why am I just sitting here? I need to call Dean,” Sam muttered to himself. He slapped his cheeks with both hands to try and scramble any romantic theories forming. Overthinking wouldn't do much good right now. Besides, there were other matters to be taken care of. So, with a shallow sigh, Sam took Gabriel's cellphone and dialed his older brother's number.

**October 4 th. 12:23 pm.**

Castiel watched Dean pace the room for the twenty seventh time in a row. Tired lines etched themselves into his best friend's face and his eyes were dull with worry. Dark circles hung like two black splotches of paint shading the green hues above them. His arms had folded themselves in a permanent thinking pose: one was crossed over his chest, while the other supported the hand resting against Dean's chin. His teeth nibbled absently at the nails of his fingers, like a squirrel with a nut.

As Cas' subdued, worried gaze followed Dean across the room, he noticed when his friend tripped a bit over his own feet. Dean stumbled, cursed under his breath, and continued to pace. Cas sighed and shook his head; he wanted nothing more than to take Dean into his arms and hug the bad crap away. But he knew that Dean needed space to mull things over and that he couldn't just sit still and wait patiently while his younger sibling was out in the freezing rain.

Not that Cas was any better. He, too, had gnawed his fingernails to stubs and his right leg kept rapidly bouncing in place. His hands wrung uneasily in their clasped position between his thighs and the inside of his cheek was bleeding from his nervous biting. Gabriel had been gone for nearly an hour and a half. Where was he? Had he found Sam? Were they hurt? Cas chewed on his lower lip, his mind delving into worst possible scenarios.

“Fuck!!” Dean suddenly shouted, making everyone within a five meter radius jump, “This is taking too long! I'm gonna go find him!”

“Dean, calm down! We can't just-,”

The muffled riff of guitars began to sing from Castiel's hip. The startled man scrambled to reach into his trenchcoat pocket to retrieve Dean's cellphone, which he'd taken during his friend's rather violent throwing-anything-close-to-me spree. Let's just say, the vacant cop's desk's contents hadn't made it. The black cellular device vibrated in Castiel's palm as he fumbled to check the caller I.D. There was no name, meaning an unknown caller was trying to contact them.

Before the ringtone could loop, Cas took a chance and swiped the call button. He hesitated for a moment, bringing the phone up to his ear. Dean paused in his pacing, staring at his friend and the cellphone intensely. Castiel wasn't sure who it could be on the other line, but that number had looked familiar. He took a deep breath and ground out a questioning greeting.

"Hello?"

“ _Cas? Why do you have Dean's phone?_ ”

“Sam?!”

At Cas' outburst, Dean pivoted, eyes huge, and hurried over. He stumbled in his haste and almost crashed into Cas' lap. Without skipping a beat, Dean plopped down in the chair next to him and focused completely on the voice in the phone.  
  
“Sammy?!”

He leaned against his best friend in an almost eager manner in order to hear the other end of the conversation. Jody, who had been speaking to the senior cop Dean had seen earlier, heard the commotion and she, too, hurried to Cas and Dean's side. Cas held up a finger in signal to wait then pulled the phone away from his ear. He waited for the screen to light up and clicked the speaker button.

“Sam, you're on speaker. Can you repeat what you were saying?”

“ _Sure. Uh, I'm fine, so there's no need for you to worry anymore. Gabriel found me and took me home. I used the spare key to get in and I took my meds, so you don't have to freak out about that. Oh, and the power came back on. Um, sorry for not calling you earlier. My phone died, so I'm using Gabriel's,_ ”

“Dammit, Sam, you can't just up and disappear like that then act like everything's alright! What if something had happened to you?!”

“ _I know, Dean, it was stupid. But you don't understand how badly I needed to get out of there. It was torture_ ,”

“If it was so bad, why didn't you say something to me? I could have fixed it,”

“ _Dean, this isn't some monster under my bed that you can scare off. You can't just snap your fingers and bam! No more mental crap. It's inside my head._ _ **My**_ _head, okay? I have to deal with this alone. But that doesn't mean you can't still help me in other ways. Like my medicine. I wouldn't have that if it wasn't for you_ ,”

“That's...I didn't mean it that way. I-,”

Dean trailed off, obviously fighting for the right words to say. Sam was silent on the other end, which only fueled Dean's struggle to speak. Cas looked at him sympathetically when Dean eventually gave up with a harsh sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratingly. Jody rolled her eyes and moved around him so Sam could hear her better.

“Sam? It's Jody,”

“ _Jody! Hey, I'm sorry that I didn't return to the station right off the bat. It's just that-_ ,”

“Ah! Save it, pal. Your health is more important than some Bad Cop versus Good Cop spiel. What I want to know is: are you warm? Have you eaten since you got home? More importantly, anything bruised or broken?”

“ _I'm okay, Jody, really. I changed into some clean clothes earlier. And we were going to wait until Dean and Cas got home to eat. Actually, we were planning on coming back to the station after I called to let y'all know I was safe and sound_ ,”

“No need to bother with the questioning thing. I just got off the phone the Chinese place you guys ordered from last night. The delivery boy said he was at your doorstep giving you boys food during the time of the murder. You've got an alibi, so you're off the hook,”

“ _W-wait, are you serious?_ ”

Dean and Cas both glanced at her incredulously. Jody fought the urge to laugh; each man had an identical expression of pure befuddlement. And, judging from Sam's confused yet hopeful tone, he was most likely sporting the same look. It was at times like these that Jody remembered she felt like a mom to the boys.

“When the hell did you do that?”

“While you were stomping a rut into our floor,”

Jody looked at Dean pointedly then turned to the older officer standing a few feet away. Her mouth tightened into a thin grimace as he shook his head, an unspoken question between them. ' _Just when I thought I could catch a break,'_ she thought grimly. Jody forced a fake smile of acknowledgment towards the man and turned back towards the others. Cas noticed the expression on annoyance on her face and tilted his head in question.

“Well, I can take you boys back home but that's all I'll be able to do,”

“ _Can't you stay with us for awhile?_ ”

“No can do, Sam. The Boss Man needs me here. All hands on deck situation,”

Sam's eyes widen a touch; as the Sheriff, Jody had full reign over the station. At least, that what he had assumed. He hadn't known that she had a boss. His teeth automatically fastened over his lower lip; if Jody needed someone of a higher rank there to back her up, everything was worse off than any of them thought. Way, way worse.

At that moment, the bathroom door creaked open. Sam heard a tiny shifting noise, a curse, then a loud thud. Raising an eyebrow, he shifted on the couch and craned his neck over his shoulder. Gabriel lay face down on the floor, his hands sprawled out in a vain attempt to break his fall. Around his left foot, the bathroom rug had entangled itself around his ankle. Sam bit his tongue to refrain from laughing.

He held the phone away from his ear and covered it with the palm of his hand. He took a few moments to compose himself. Gabriel scowled as he shoved himself onto his hands and knees. Sam cleared his throat and fought the urge to start laughing as Gabriel's annoyed expression came into view. Mirth still remained in his tone, no matter how hard Sam tried to hide it. 

“Are you...are you okay?”

“Oh, can it, Gigantor,”

Sam snorted as Gabriel grumpily pushed himself to his feet. He raised an eyebrow when he caught Sam's eye then grinned suggestively.

“Guess you could say I _fell_ for you hard, eh, Samsie?”

Gabriel winked and kicked the rug from his foot, killing the smooth vibe he was going with. Sam shook his head at his friend's ridiculousness and tried to come up with his own flirtatious pick-up line. It had to be a good one; Gabriel was the king of stuff like that. While Gabriel adjusted the rug back in its proper place, Sam struggled to come up with something suave and...and what the hell was he thinking?

“Sam? You copy?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Listen, Dean, I-uh, gotta go. I'll see you guys when you get here, alright?”

“What? Sam, you only just-,”

The dial tone droned in response to Dean's complaint. He, Castiel, and Jody stared at the cellphone as the number dropped away to black screen. Silence choked the room as Dean took the device from Cas and shoved it angrily in his jacket pocket. Cas sighed and rubbed at his temple with a tired expression.

“How could he hang up on us like that?”

“At least we know he's okay, Dean,”

“But-”

“Don't stay angry with him for too long. Time is precious,”

Dean grumbled and leaned back against the wall. His arms squeaked against the leather as he crossed them over his chest. God, Sam could be a real pain-in-the-ass! Dean had only gotten maybe twenty minutes with his brother before that asshat hung up without a reason. He wanted to stay mad, to vent and curse and punch things, but Cas was right; time was too short. Dean had almost lost his only brother.

The anger clenching at his belly and the hurt piercing his heart became similar to background noise; Dean could still feel them, but they'd been shoved away to a dark corner to be dealt with later. Cas caught a glimpse of Dean's expression and winced; this was all his fault. If he had just done that background check on the coffee shop, Sam and Dean wouldn't have been considered suspects in the first place.

' _Don't forget that it was you who caused Sam more grief by bringing Gabriel here_.' Horror washed over Cas slowly, like honey from a honey dipper. Everything that had gone wrong for Sam since this morning had all been Cas' fault. A dark, constricting cloud hung over him as each event that had had occurred since that moment replayed in his mind's eye. Unaware of this, Jody pinched the bridge of her nose then rolled her eyes up to the ceiling; another phone was going off in one of the offices. She couldn't even begin to describe how much she loathed the sound of a telephone ringing. It felt like the vibrations of the noise was strangling her nerves. No wonder Sam left the way he did; if given the chance, she'd bolt, too.

“I'm going to lose my mind if another person calls here. This has been going on for days. I don't think I can take much more of this,”

“Jody, we-,”

“We want to help,”

All eyes turned to Cas in surprise. His blurted outburst left a ringing echo bouncing off the walls of the station. As Jody registered what Cas had just said, the older man came over, his bushy brows raised. Or rather, he marched over to where the men were sitting. Jody turned at the sudden movement, her eyebrows raised. Dean and Castiel shared a secret glance, each informing the other that support was there if needed. The officer didn't seem to notice. He apparently did not register that Castiel had been the one to speak up; his hawk-like gaze was fixated on Dean. He towered over Dean in an intimidating way, much like an angry drill sergeant.

“What's this you're saying about helping?”

“I- uh, that is, we would like to help. You know, lift the burden and whatnot. N-not just us two, but my brother Sam as well,”

“I got that. What exactly do you know how to do? You don't look like you've got much experience in this field of work,”

At that, Dean floundered, his mouth snapping shut with a sharp click. He knew that something like this would happen. Mentally, Dean cursed Castiel for even opening his mouth. The elder officer squinted his tired eyes as he gauged the younger man's reaction. This, of course, made Dean bristle in discomfort. The way the guy was staring at him...it made him want to cover his chest with his arms.

Dean knew this was ridiculous, but that stare felt like it was violating his soul. Almost as though he sensed his friend's discomfort, Castiel pulled himself from the depths of his own thoughts and flicked his gaze from Jody's boss to Dean. His hands immediately clenched into fists when he saw the state Dean was in. From his point of view, it was like seeing a frightened, puffed up cat shoved into a corner with a stern-faced Italian Mastiff staring it down. Cas shifted his jaw to open his mouth to speak, but Jody beat him to it.

“They can help me with the Lucifer investigation, Sir. I could really use some extra hands,”

“You told me you had that under control, Mills. You been lying to me?”

“Absolutely not. I did have it under control, but with all this new crap springing up, I haven't had the time to focus on it the way I was,”

“Hmph. I understand that. I've had to deal with the same woman for over an hour now,”

The man rubbed his hand down his face, his expression shifting into one of utter exhaustion and irritation. Dean calmed a little at the open display of serenity and straightened up. Cas, however, remained vigilant and watched the officer intently, waiting for any returning sign of aggression.

“Let us do what we can, sir. It might not be much, but at least it's help,”

“Alright. Just...follow the Sheriff here's orders. She knows how to deal with cases like this better than anyone,”

“Will you be alright?”

“I'll be fine, Mills. But I'm telling ya, I didn't retire for nothing,”

The older officer muttered as he trailed off, walking away towards his office at the end of the hall. Jody watched him go then turned to the two men sitting on the plastic chairs. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her car keys with a sharp jingle. They fanned out a bit in the air as she tossed them to Dean, who caught them with ease.

“Change of plans. I can't leave now. So, if I give you the keys to my car, can I trust you to keep it safe?”

“Jody. Have you seen my Baby? Your car will be in good hands,”

“I know. Just making sure. Oh, and Cas? Take care of Sam for me, would you? Dean can only do so much,”

“Understood,”

“Great. Well then, off you boys go. Drive safe and I'll send you some stuff via email. Got it?”

“Got it,”

Cas and Dean spoke in unison.

“See you guys later then,”

“You know it,”

“Jody?”

“Yes, Cas?”

“Thank you,”

“Yeah, Jody, thanks. We wouldn't have been able to get out of this situation without you,”

“Hey, you don't have to butter me up. I'd do more if I could, you know that,”

Jody smiled warmly at them then shooed the men from the station, giving each a tight hug as they left out the door. She waited until they were in the police car and driving away before slumping against the wall and sliding to the floor. Why did they have to try to be heroes all the time? The one thing she had wanted to keep a secret from them had now become the subject of the week.

“I've got to protect them,” she murmured to herself. Those boys had become a big part of her little family and she would do anything to not have them be involved in such a dangerous case. But Jody also knew that when the Winchesters and Castiel got involved with something, there was no convincing them to let it go. She would have smiled had the image of the recent murder not flashed into her mind.

It was only a matter of time before the body lying lifeless on the ground in an alleyway belonged to someone else- someone she knew and loved. Jody curled in on herself and bit down on the rising sob in her throat; she had had nightmares far too many times already. Castiel's outburst and Dean's agreement to the idea of helping to catch the killer had been like a stab to her heart. She knew deep down that they were bound to say something along those lines.

The same suggestion of aid had been predicted in her dreams. And if what she dreamed was a premonition coming true- Jody had to bite her fist to keep from crying out. No, she would not let that happen. He'd have to kill her first before she let that sicko anywhere near her boys. ' _You can't keep him away forever. He'll find his way into their lives one way or another and then what are you going to do?_ '

“Nope. We're quitting that thought process right now. They're alive and well and on their way home. Lucifer won't know to go there and besides they don't fit in with his victim flow. They'll be fine,”

Jody muttered this to herself on a mantra as she got to her feet and hurried off to answer that damnable phone. If only she knew that the bad feeling in her gut was correct. If only she was aware of just how wrong she was. If only Jody knew that the one person she wanted to be as far away from the Winchester family as possible...was sitting inside their very apartment.

Said person hummed quietly from his spot on Sam's closet floor, listening to the muffled voice of his beloved as he talked to that wretched friend of his. Nick'd come to the conclusion that, in order to escape without getting caught, he would have to wait until Sam was preoccupied. And, from what he could hear, that newcomer- what was his name again?- was thinking about staying over. Jealously flashed through Nick like a wildfire and his eyes burned holes into the closet wall.

How dare that man flirt so shamelessly with his Winchester? Didn't he know that he was trespassing in dangerous territory? And to completely expose himself emotionally like that...well, that just wasn't fair! Sam had one of those chicken hearts and would easily fall for someone as sensitive as that clown in the bathroom. How could Nick compete with that?!

He wouldn't give up without a fight. No, Sam wasn't going to be taken from- Nick hissed a little as he startled from the sound of Sam getting up from the couch, the springs creaking loudly. He listened to those heavy footfalls and imagined Sam's beautiful feet stepping gracefully on the carpet. He thought of how Sam's toes probably curled into the soft fibers of the shag and shuddered.

The door opened and Sam entered the bedroom. Nick slowed his breathing and covered his mouth with his hand. He watched eagerly through the slats in the closet as Sam clicked on the light and grabbed a pillow from his bed. So, that dimwit of a competition really was staying over. How quaint. Nick sneered to himself as he thought of how pathetic the man was, how- wait.

Sam had stopped in his tracks, the pillow clenched his hands. His eyes were fixated on the damp, wrinkled blanket. They flicked over to the pillow then back to the blanket. ' _Shit, why is he looking at the bed like that? I didn't leave any traces, did I? No, I was too careful. I wouldn't have- for fuck's sake, look away!_ ' Nick thought, panicked. Sam peered down at the rumpled comforter and frowned.

Then he stepped back and leaned his body back so he could catch a glimpse of the underside of his bed. When Sam saw no one under there, his sharp gaze swept across the floor. To Nick's dumb luck, his footprints had yet to be discovered. Which did nothing to ease his mind. He knew that it had been a risk- a stupid, huge fucking risk- to take a nap on Sam's bed. He should have resisted the temptation.

Sam flipped the pillow onto its other side and leaned his face down. _Don't!_ He audibly sniffed the fabric of the pillowcase and stiffened at the foreign scent. Shit, shit, shit! Why did Nick have to use that same pillow? The bed was bad enough but the pillow? He would easily soon become an embarrassment to serial killers all over the world with a mistake like that.

Nick's eyes widened and his entire being seemed to freeze as Sam's eyes shifted from the bed to the closet. No. No, he can't be caught now. It was too soon. Nick still had to escape. He still had to print out his pictures. There was so much to do until Sam would even be allowed to know who Nick really was. Sam carefully put down the pillow, his eyes never leaving the closet.

Sweat trickled down Nick's back and beaded on his forehead as he held Sam's stare through the slats. Sam straightened and made his way slowly over to the door. His footsteps were silent and careful, as though he was trying not to alert whatever- or whomever- was inside the closet. Nick's mouth and throat went dry and his stomach lurched. _Stop_.

Sam's hand reached out and settled on the handle to the closet door. His fingers clenched around the metal and his thumb jerked up the bottom. There was an audible _clack!_ as the latch keeping the door shut came undone. The hinges squeaked piercingly as the closet door- the only thing keeping Nick's presence in Sam's bedroom as secret- sluggishly opened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, it might be just me, but is this chapter too short? Also, please let me know if I should keep going with Sabriel. Thanks for all the support, guys!! <3


	8. Close Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied usage of drug, non-consensual consumption of said drug, and mentioned verbal manipulation.

**Present Day**

The mysterious newcomer moved forward gracefully, their long black coat flowing out behind them. Sam blankly looked up at them as they approached. From what he could make out, the figure was a male with a neatly trimmed beard and bored, mocking eyes. The man leaned in close to the winded Sam's personal space and lightly grabbed under his chin.

“H..help me. I'm dying,”

The newcomer responded in a slightly annoyed English accent.

“Just how strung out are you?”

His hand was cool and dry against Sam's sweaty skin. The man turned Sam's head this way and that, studying him like an uninterested art dealer with an exotic painting. The youngest Winchester brother groaned deep in his throat as his sore neck ached from the sudden movement. This caught the stranger's attention and he leaned back, mumbling something under his breath. His thin brows rose delicately as his gaze settled on the six long wounds along Sam's abdomen.

“That moron. First he trips you up then tries to bleed you dry. Damn. There may be no hope for you, after all,”

**October 4 th. 1:15 pm.**

It was odd, sitting up front. The surrounding air seemed more...exposed? Not like in the backseat, where everything felt cramped and stifled. Even the seat belt felt less snug. It didn't seem safe at all. Cas shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat; it felt wrong for him to be in a car other than the Impala. The police vehicle appeared to be the complete opposite of Dean's Baby.

The seats were made of a scratchy dark cloth instead of sweet smelling leather, there was a series of various technological equipment that neither Dean nor Cas knew how to work along the dashboard, and there was a steel mesh cage that stretched from the one side of the vehicle to the other. It felt more like being in a prison than in a car. He tapped at his leg rapidly; he despised the way the atmosphere seemed to be crushing down on him.

But regardless of the disquieted knotting in Castiel's stomach, it was nothing compared to Dean's silence. He glanced over at his friend to find the same kicked puppy look he'd been sporting all day; it was like seeing a tortured animal stare at you helplessly from behind glass. Cas remembered seeing that pain in full throttle when he'd gone into Dean's bedroom. Poor Dean had finally given up arguing with John and had been slumped on the floor in the corner of his closet.

Dean hadn't even responded to Castiel softly calling his name then flinched when Cas laid a hand on his knee. Dean had lifted his head and, when his somber green gaze met concerned blue, it'd been like the floodgates had opened. There had been no hesitation as Cas pulled him into an desperately needed embrace. John was in mid-sentence when Castiel gently pried the cellphone from Dean's death grip and ended the call with a quick tap of his thumb.

He could still remember the words his tearful friend in his arms had wailed against his chest: “He's dead, Cas. Benny...he w-was murdered. I didn't get to say goodbye, Cas. He's gone.” The feeling of Dean's fingers on his trench coat remained engraved into the beige cloth. Cas' heart felt as though it had been smashed and ripped in two. And if his had become that way simply from witnessing his best friend's broken state, he couldn't even begin to imagine the state of Dean's.

It had been hours since Cas had managed to calm him down and since then, they hadn't had the chance to talk about what had happened. He knew that Benny's death must have been bothering him, but Dean had mastered the poker face and the monotone “I'm fine” excuse. Cas fidgeted; no matter what barriers Dean put up, the pain remained like a stubborn piece of glass wedged deep into flesh.

“...Dean?”

“What, Cas?”

“Are you...how are you feeling?”

“Feeling? In regards to what?”

“Towards everything that has been going on. You have been rather quiet about it...,”

“Didn't know I had to be Chatty Cathy,”

There was the warning edge to his voice- his defense mechanism. Dean was throwing his guard up, knowing that Cas was trying to get him to open up about what was really going on inside his head. Deep down, he almost wanted Cas to keep pestering him, to keep pushing him to speak so Dean didn't have to keep it bottled up anymore. And Cas, who knew his best friend better than anyone, did just that.

“I don't think that-,”

He cut himself off mid-sentence, clamping his lips together tightly to stop the words in their tracks; he hadn't meant to say that out loud. Cas was aware that it was too late to take it back. But he refused to continue in a futile attempt to spare himself from Dean's temper. Unfortunately, Dean raised an eyebrow with his eyes narrowed with suspicion. What had Cas been about to say? Much to his dismay, however, his voice came out icy and challenging.

“You don't think what, Cas? If you've got something to say, spit it out,”

“I...I don't think that it would be wise for you to stay with your father,”

“What?”

Cas closed his eyes and cursed internally. He had struck a nerve. Sam had warned Cas before about what bringing up the subject of their father meant to Dean, but he didn't listen. It had just been...lingering in his mind, like an overbearing shadow. Castiel felt a rush of anger; it was just that...that man had had no right saying what he did to Dean.

Dean's father had called for the first time in years only to reveal to his eldest son unspeakable news then respond to his grief with unprecedented anger. It had taken every ounce of Castiel's restraint not to snatch up the phone and tell the asshole where he could shove it. Instead, he hung up on John and took care of Dean, who looked like he was going to curl up in the fetal position.

Cas couldn't get Dean's expression out of his head. He had been so...afraid, wounded, but overall confused. It was like rescuing a child from a traumatic situation and listening to them wonder why you're taking them away. It was heartbreaking and made Cas' disgust towards John Winchester burn hotly in his gut. Dean gritted his teeth audibly, drawing Castiel's attention back to him.

“You don't know what the hell you're talking about,”

“Don't I? Dean, I could hear your shouting from the elevator! No one should have to deal with such...such unnecessary violence during a time of grieving!”

“Now you sound like Sam. Look, you don't know my dad like I do. Butt out,”

“It's true. I don't know your father. But I know you. And I know that he isn't the type of person you need to be around during this emotional period!”

“Oh, and you are?”

The flash of hurt that streaked across Cas' eyes was brief and sharp, like a bolt of lightning. Dean bit the inside of his cheek; he'd spat those words so harshly, with venom in every syllable. Of course, he knew that Cas was right, but the part of him that refused to believe it had taken over. Castiel turned away. _Wow, you're great at communicating, aren't you?_ Dean tapped irritably at the edge of the steering wheel as his subconscious taunted him.

Cas fought the urge to cry. It wasn't what Dean had said that sparked his discomposure- it was the hidden truth behind those words. Was he really the sort of person Dean needed to be around right now? Cas thought that he had been there, that he had been doing his duty as a good friend and offering his shoulder for Dean to cry on. And while Dean refused to accept his friend's comfort, Cas had still hoped that he was helping him cope. Even if it was a small amount.

But from the way Dean spoke to him...it sure didn't seem like Cas had been doing any good. Well, wait. Honestly, what had he really done for Dean? There hadn't been any talking until now. The only thing Cas had managed to do that was remotely helpful was to calm Dean down from his fit of anger. And all he'd done was give Dean a hug and inform him that everything was going to be alright. _Minimal effort._

His mouth pulled back into a wince as a distinct cutting sensation sliced through the middle of his chest. If he couldn't be the best friend Dean wanted him to be, then how could he possibly be anything more? Hopelessly seeking a distraction from his vicious thoughts, Cas studied the foreign equipment. The radio had about four stations, each labeled with a number. These meant that only police intercoms were available to listen to. ' _There goes your idea of playing some of Dean's music to ease the tension_ ,' Cas thought bitterly.

Annoyed, Cas settled back in his seat, arms crossed huffily over his chest. He shifted his arm and his elbow bumped against something solid. Glancing down, he just about yelped; a 12 gauge black shotgun was securely fastened adjacent to the gear shift, ready for action. Dean heard his sharp intake of breath and gave Cas a side-eyed look. When he saw the gun, he sighed as though he'd been expecting something worse.

“Dude, it's a police car. What did you expect?”

“Well, I didn't think there would be a gun sticking out between the seats, did you?”

Cas' voice was dry with irritation. Dean internally cringed. ' _Come on, Cas,'_ he thought desperately, _'Can't you see I'm trying to fix this?'_ He tried to catch the man's eye, but Castiel refused to look at him. Not wanting to give up, Dean tried again, adding a touch of humor to his tone. Maybe that would get Cas to loosen up.

“Jody is the Sheriff, you know. She probably has to have that thing for protection. You know, in case someone doesn't shoot the deputy and comes after her,”

“There is no need to joke, Dean. I've never been inside a car like this before,”

“Hold on. Didn't you tell me that you were arrested?”

“That was a long time ago...and it wasn't me that got arrested,”

Cas trailed off, his mind reverting back to the night Dean was referring to. It had been the night that he'd been kicked out. His elder siblings were the ones to issue the exile. He shuddered, recalling his eldest brother Michael's burning gaze on him- how it had been filled with nothing but disgust and pity. Michael himself had been the one to explain why Castiel was to be cast out of their household for their father was away.

Cas couldn't remember where his father had gone, but he hadn't had time to think too much about it. The terms he was to be afflicted with included him becoming homeless and all of his belongings were to be burned and destroyed. But first, he himself would be marked with a brand in the middle of his shoulder blades. Gabriel had come home just in time to see Raphael, the third oldest, pin Cas to the floor with a devastatingly hot fire poker poised over his back.

Castiel couldn't recall much of what happened next. All he could remember was there had been shouting and fighting and blood...so much blood. He shrank away from the memory, curling his body into the tightest ball he could muster. Words still rang in his ears: “You are under arrest for the murder of Raphael Novak. You have the right to remain silent...,” everything else became a blur.

“Cas?”

When he didn't answer right away, Dean glanced over with a troubled expression. Had he...said something wrong? He hadn't thought that Cas being incarcerated was such a big deal- Dean thought it was impressive, in a weird sort of way. Apparently, it'd been quite the ordeal. God, did he feel like the biggest dick now. What kind of friend was he? It was already bad enough that Dean was in a shitty state of mind; now he'd plopped Cas down in the same boat.

“Hey, what-?”

“Please, I'd rather not speak about it,”

Cas' voice was small and Dean stiffened as the car descended into silence; the child-like persona was back. Again, the image of a younger Cas having shadows loom over him shoved into Dean's mind. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Judging from the way his best friend had suddenly shrank away from the topic, Dean had been wrong to bring up the arrest. Very wrong. Castiel sighed and pressed his eyelids gently into the heels of his hands.

_Well? What are you waiting for? Do something about it before you lose him._

Impulsively, Dean reached into his jacket pocket one-handed and fumblingly took out his cellphone. Cas lifted his face and turned away to stare out the window, his eyes far away and haunted. Shit. Gotta fix this fast. Dean scrolled through the list of music and chose at random, clicking the volume up as high as it could go. The speakers on his cellphone weren't the best, but in the suffocating silence of the police car, anything was loud.

At the sudden sound of a synthesizer, Cas' eyebrows scrunched together in a confused yet curious way and he turned his face from the window to face Dean. When he met Castiel's squinting quizzical gaze, Dean cursed internally. Of all the songs he could have chosen, he picked the one that he hardly ever listened to. In fact, this particular song had been a suggestion from a customer.

Dean had listened to it before and admitted that it wasn't the worst song ever. But he just couldn't get into it like he could with, say, Led Zeppelin. Hell, even Bon Jovi would have been a better choice. Then again...the lyrics made sense. At least, they did from Dean's point of view. His ears and cheeks warmed; yeah, they voiced his inner desires, but now was seriously not the time to go down that road.

Cas flicked his gaze from the awkwardly embarrassed Dean to the shiny cellphone blasting the somewhat pop-y rock. _'Oh, wait, I actually know this song!'_ Castiel thought in surprise. He recalled hearing the mix of keyboard and drums while in the shop doing inventory. It wasn't his favorite tune, but it was the kind of music that got stuck in your head. Cas wondered why Dean, who had begun to anxiously tap his fingers against the steering wheel, suddenly chose now to play music. Was it to cheer him up?

“ _I feel the hunger. It's a hunger that tries to keep a man awake at night. Are you the answer? I shouldn't wonder when I feel you whet my appetite.”_

The phone's tiny speakers crackled a little with static, but they blared the smooth guitars and drums with all their strength. Cas raised an eyebrow as he listened to the lyrics; they didn't really fit with their current scenario and this wasn't exactly an apologetic song. However, the cheerful beat and the man singing about his desire to be with the person he cared for right in that very moment made up for it. Cas then realized that this was sort of Dean's way of apologizing. He wanted to atone for causing such a noxious atmosphere to spawn between them.

“ _...It isn't safe to walk the city streets alone! Anticipation is running through me. Let's find the key and turn this engine on.”_

A tender smile briefly ghosted over his lips and Cas' eyes softened as Dean suddenly belted out the lyrics in his endearingly inharmonious singing voice. He began to tap his foot, the soles of his shoes making dull, thumping noises against the car floor. Shyly, Cas hummed a bit under his breath, keeping in time with the music. Dean laughed in startled delight when he sang a few words during the chorus.

“ _Take me home tonight! I don't wanna let you go 'til you see the light. Take me home tonight! Listen honey...”_

“There you go, Cas! Sing it!”

And he did. While bashful at first, it didn't take long for Cas to start singing with an enthusiasm that was too contagious for Dean to ignore. He quickly joined in and the pair jammed out together in a quirky, off-key duet. They eventually ended up getting silly with their volume with Dean randomly shifting his tone from his normal voice to outrageously baritone.

Castiel had to pause in his singing from time to time to chuckle at the ridiculousness of his best friend. Not to be outdone, he tried shifting his gravelly, deep voice into a higher pitch, like an elf. Dean threw his head back with raucous laughter, much to Cas' relieved amusement. With each passing moment, he could feel himself forgetting that awful night, shoving it to the back of his mind where it belonged. He had needed this. They both needed this.

Dean, for the first time since that morning, didn't think about Benny or Sam or the killer that could be hiding behind every corner. All he was aware of was the then and now, Eddie Money's “ _Take Me Home Tonight_ ” blasting through the tiny speakers of his cellphone, and how he and Cas were alone together. Dean felt as though his body were thrumming with relieved happiness.

This was how it was supposed to be; no angst-y shit, no depressive episodes, and no worrying about what was going to happen next. Just smooth driving and loud music to sing to with someone you cared about. Dean's heart beat faster and, for once, he thought to himself: _Tell him how you feel_. As soon as the thought popped up, Dean's brain immediately panicked and shut it down. Not yet...not yet.

“ _I get nightmares. I hate to sleep alone. I need some company- a guardian angel- to keep me warm when the cold winds blow!”_

They took turns singing the lines, merging in only for the chorus. A sort of quivering, pulsing throb thrummed in Castiel's heart. Was this...what love felt like? Cas fought the urge to laugh humorlessly; yeah, right, who was he trying to fool? He was probably just reacting to the music. He glanced over at Dean and found him looking back, eyes shining enthusiastically. Cas' breath caught in his throat; at last, Dean wasn't in pain.

Cas knew that it would only last a short period of time, but, god, did he wish that this would last forever. He had been trying so hard to take his friend's mind off of the grim events that had been unfurling. To see Dean cheerful after Cas had failed to ease his misery was similar to beholding the rainbow after a storm. He found himself returning Dean's smile with a tender grin; it was useless trying not to, especially around the person he loved.

“ _I can feel you breathe. I can feel your heart beat faster. Take me home tonight!”_

The police car zoomed over the soggy fallen leaves, kicking them up behind its wheels. Puddles surged up around the tires as they splashed through, sending cascades of water over the grass and the sidewalks. There was no one else on the road nor was there a single soul outside. For a moment, Dean and Castiel had the whole world to themselves and they were enjoying every minute of it.

**October 4 th. 1:35pm.**

“Hey, Gigantor! There's someone at the door!”

Gabriel's voice called from the living room. Sam jerked in surprise, nearly tearing the handle off. He huffed out an exasperated breath and turned his head towards the sound, the closet door just inches away from revealing the serial killer hiding within. Nick stared at that gorgeous jawline, those glorious sideburns, and the overall profile of Sam's face like a hyperventilating rabbit. He had been so close to being discovered...  
  
“I'm in my room! Hold on a second!”

Sam glanced reluctantly from the closet to his bedroom door, his brain turning his hesitation into a forced reconsideration. Nick wanted to cheer and cry out at the same time. Sam released the door handle and hurried out of the bedroom, flipping the light out as he went. As soon as he heard the bedroom door slam close, Nick sprang from his hiding spot, quiet as a mouse, and tip-toed over to the sliding glass door.

It was now or never. Sam was distracted, thanks to the man from the hallway, and Nick had had enough close calls for one day. The door made a slight rumbling noise as it was slid to the side. And, even though his instincts screamed for him not to, Nick hesitated, waiting to make sure that the sound had not been heard by either of the two men in the other room. The low murmur of voices reached his ears, one in particular standing out.

“Is that...the doorman from earlier?” he whispered to himself. Curiosity taking over common sense, Nick crept away from his escape hatch, feet making hushed swishing noises on the carpet, and pressed his ear to the wood of the door. From what he could tell by peering through the space between the hinges, Sam was standing a few steps away from the entryway, the front door held open to allow the person on the other end to be heard and seen.

“...happened?”

“There might be someone in your apartment,”

Nick clenched his teeth as fear, sharp and powerful, paralyzed his whole body. How the hell did he know? As far as the killer could tell, he hadn't left any traces of evidence. Had he? Wracking his brain, he retraced the process of getting to where he was now. Fortunately, Nick didn't have to think long.

“Well, yeah, I do live here. And he's here as a guest,”

“I don't mean you two, jackass. I think you may have an intruder. I was patrolling and-,”

“An intruder? But how could someone get into our apartment during a storm? Are you sure you-?”

“Yes, I'm sure, you idiot. Like I was saying, I was doing my patrol now that the storm's cleared and I found the fire escape ladder broken on the pavement,”

Damn him! Nick's mind flared and, under the influence of pure adrenaline, he sidled anxiously to the glass door. _Got to get out. Hurry, hurry!_ Nick's limbs were like rigid posts as he stepped out onto the metal grating. Close the door... _click!_ Using the greyhound shirt he'd stolen from Sam's room, Nick wiped down the handle as he had with every other surface he'd touched in the bedroom.

Then he fumblingly stuffed the shirt through the neck of his jacket and zipped it all the way up to his chin. Keeping his hands clenched tight to the metal safety bar, Nick scuttled from one balcony to the next until he reached his own. Wasting no time, he hurriedly scaled the railing. Although he slipped multiple times and nearly saw his life flash before his eyes on two occasions, Nick managed to get into his house just in time to hear knocking at his front door.

“Fucking hell,” he growled. Nick was positively broiling with rage. Everything was going to shit! One thing after another after another after another! He never wanted to kill someone more in his entire murderous career than in that very moment. Tossing his jacket and Sam's shirt into his own bedroom, Nick snatched a towel from the floor of his bathroom, stripped off his shirt, and placed the towel in what he hoped to be a convincing manner over his head. Taking a deep breath, Nick opened his front door.

“Oh! Hello again, doorman. What can I do for you?”

His tone was sweet and pleasant and utterly calm. Perfectly casual. Adam seemed out of breath and was warily glancing around Nick's apartment. The man-slayer twitched and felt the livid rage boiling in his blood burn into his gaze. He internally snarled; it was because of this little asshole that he nearly got caught for the third time. When Adam's eyes found Nick's, he visibly flinched and even had the gall to look guilty. The scruffy haired boy scratched at his scalp and cleared his throat.

“Hi, uh, sorry for bothering you. It's just that...,”

“Speak, man. You're mumbling and I've got shit to do,”

“R-right! Crap, um, there was evidence of a possible burglar in the vicinity. A ladder from the fire escape was lying on the sidewalk, so you need to, uh, lock your windows and check any possible hiding places that a trespasser could...be...in, wait that's not right,”

A...burglar? Were they pulling his leg? He couldn't help the disbelieving grin that nearly took over his face. Lucifer, the most renowned serial killer in the whole state, a mere common house thief? What a set-back! Nick fought the urge to double over with hysterical laughter. Adam recoiled, taken aback by the sudden hilarity on the tenant's expression. There was nothing pleasant about being robbed. Why on earth was this guy so smiley?

“You know, you're really going above and beyond the call of duty for your job. I'm going to have a little chat with your superiors after all. You deserve a promotion,”

“W-what? Really? I mean, it was no trouble at all. I want to make sure everyone is safe,”

“And it shows. Say, would you like to come in? I was about to make some tea,”

Adam hesitated, looking briefly at the man's kitchen from the doorway. Now that the lights were back on, he could see that Nick had a normal apartment, just like everyone else; the doorman had had quite the imagination spree of what this guy had been hiding. And...aliens with UFOs may or may not have come up aboard his train of thought. Disappointed, Adam shrugged and scuffed his feet against the carpet. Alien or not, he'd never been invited to tea before...

“Tea does sound nice...,”

“Great. Come on in,”

“But I thought you had shit to do?”

“...I can spare some time to talk,”

“Well, uh, alright, I guess. I can't stay long though. I have to warn the other residents,”

“It won't take long. It's very cold outside and the tea will warm you up and give you enough energy to tell everyone in the building posthaste,”

“Yeah. I guess you're right. Okay,”

Then poor innocent Adam Milligan stepped inside Nick's apartment with a shy smile and shuffled his way over to a bar stool. He didn't think to ask why Nick had been so kind; to him, Adam was being rewarded by the tenant he'd helped earlier. He felt quite proud of himself for all the good deeds he'd accomplished that day. As the younger man settled into his seat, Nick slowly shut the door behind him, a hidden sinister grin stretching his lips over his teeth.

**October 4 th. 1:58 pm. **

With Adam's whereabouts unbeknownst to anyone, Sam busily wrapped an Ace bandage around Gabriel's foot. His friend's tumble from the bathroom had caused a minor twisting in his ankle. It was the reason why Sam had gone into his bedroom to get his pillow in the first place- to support it. But he hadn't been expecting...Adam's words repeated eerily in Sam's head.

_There might be someone in your apartment._

There had definitely been signs of someone sleeping on his bed: the rumpled dampened sheets, the water marks on his pillow, even the open shirt drawer were evident clues. Not to mention that terrible sensation of being watched from within his closet. But there had been no one in there; Sam had gone back into his room to briefly check when Adam had left and found nothing.

Sam stared off into space, recollecting the strange occurrences of the past few hours. First there had been the return of the nightmares, then the sudden appearance of Gabriel, which still hadn't been fully explained to Sam but that wasn't the issue at the moment, Jody's uncharacteristic skepticism, the rise of anxiety attacks, and now the ominous signs of being home-invaded. He hadn't gone crazy, right?

“Gabriel?”

Sam said the name in a hesitantly questioning tone, as though implying that he already knew the answer but needed to ask a second opinion anyway. Gabriel, who was lounging quite contently on the couch with his arm behind his head, lazily peeked an eye open and looked down to where Sam was standing. He smiled and responded in a voice similar to Sam's questioning tone.

“Yes, Samsquatch?”

“Did I...go into my bedroom at all when we came back?”

“Uh...sure, you had to get dressed,”

Oh...yes, that was when Sam had noticed the dresser opened. He knew without a doubt that that drawer had been closed when he'd left for the station; Sam had never changed out of the long sleeved shirt that he'd adorned when Gabriel arrived. Which proved that someone had been in his room and had been rifling through his clothes.

“Right, right. Um, were you ever in my bedroom? Like, at all since you came here?”

“Samsie. The only time I'd ever go into your room would be if you were with me. Besides, you've been watching me like a hawk since I got here, so you'd know if I went in without you knowing. Which I wouldn't because that'd be super creepy, like blegh,”

Gabriel sat up now, his foot fully bandaged. His brows knitted together with concern as his friend- were they friends now?- sort of slumped onto the couch beside him. He noticed right away the familiar crease in Sam's brow; he was brooding and thinking hard about something. Should Gabriel say something? He hesitated then nudged Sam with his shoulder. Distant hazel eyes met honey amber as Sam turned his face in Gabriel's direction.

“Mind coming back to Earth? You're spacing out on me there, Sambo,”

“I...sorry. It's just that what Adam said is freaking me out,”

“You mean the part about the burglar?”

“Well, yeah, but I think it's more than that,”

“Like what? Hey, talk to me. You look like you're about to snuff out,”

Sam did feel a little dizzy...he shook his head as though in an attempt to clear it of fatigue. A muffled crackling noise crinkled irritatingly against his eardrums, like the sound an ice cube makes when dropped into water. The patches of skin under his eyes steadily thrummed with discomfort and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. The pads of his fingers and toes were cramping. Even his nose felt like it was enduring some sort of discomfort; it felt prickly and swollen on the inside.

“I'm not feeling so hot,”

“I can tell,”

“I think being outside in the rain is really taking its toll on me,”

“You want me to take care of you?”

Sam glanced at him; he wasn't sure if Gabriel was being genuine or hinting at something. Unfortunately, he noticed.

“I didn't mean it the way you're thinking, Samalot. No hanky panky required,”

Sam rolled his eyes, which hurt, then shook his head; now was not the time to be fussed over. He glanced back over at Gabriel and saw that his hoodie looked rather warm and inviting. He really did feel like absolute shit...Sam shoved his pride to the side and hesitantly leaned his head against his unsuspecting friend's shoulder. The man made a tiny sound of surprise but didn't move away. Instead, he pulled his arm from behind Sam's back and cautiously wrapped it around his shoulder.

“So, uh, before you start drooling, will you tell me what you were thinking about earlier?”

“Who says I was thinking about anything?”

“Well, when I see someone staring off into the void with a clocked out look in their eyes, I usually assume something is bothering them,”

“...you're gonna think I'm crazy,”

“I already know you're crazy, but go on,”

To his credit, Gabriel was trying his best to keep his voice lighthearted. But it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was starting to worry. Sam smoothed a piece of hair out of his eyes and turned his face towards Gabriel with tentative determination. And, obviously, the other man gave his full undivided attention to him. Which Sam appreciated immensely. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly; here goes nothing.

“Okay, so you know how Adam found the remains of the broken ladder?”

“Yep. You think the thief used it to get up here?”

Sam nodded, ultimately whipping his hair into his face again. This time he paid no attention to it. Gabriel absently tucked a strand behind Sam's ear, not really thinking about it. "Crap, sorry," he said, instantly moving his hand back down to his side. A flush, that was either the start of a fever or a sign of embarrassment from the tender gesture, warmed Sam's cheeks. Part of him wanted to say that it was okay, that he knew that Gabriel's hadn't actually meant anything by it. The other part of him wanted to wrap himself in Gabriel's arms and just stay there, warm and comforted. Plus, he smelled really good and- dammit, focus!

“There's an old fire escape that runs down the back of the building. It hasn't been used in years, but I'm sure it's still functioning,”

“Okay. Go on,”

“Well, what if that was how the guy got up here? It would make sense,”

“Wait, so let me get this straight. You think the burglar climbed the fire escape and chose your apartment out of all the others to rob?”

“Yes,”

“Why yours?”

Gabriel didn't sound doubtful, but curious. Sam felt another tiny burst of affection for the man. It was nice to be listened to and not immediately be presumed to be nuts. So, when Sam responded with eager enthusiasm, it was warranted. He leaned in towards Gabriel, whispering in case the intruder was still in the house. Gabriel mimicked him.

“I found signs that someone was in my bedroom,”

“You mean there was actually a living person in your apartment without you knowing?”

“I think so. My bed was wet, like someone who'd been outside had laid down on it. And my dresser drawer was open, even though I hardly ever open it,”

Gabriel hummed inquisitively and rubbed at his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. Sam couldn't help but watch, fascinated, as the wheels in Gabriel's mind turned. For a brief moment, Sam pondered what all Gabriel knew. How smart was he really? What were his interests? Did he enjoy reading, like Sam did?

“Was anything taken?”

“What?”

“Focus, Samsquatch. You can goo-goo eyes at my handsome face later,”

Sam's face reddened as Gabriel lightheartedly quirked up his mouth; shoot, he'd been caught red-handed. Not to be taken off-guard, Sam wracked his memory for anything out of place in his bedroom. Everything had seemed to be in order, save for the three main sources of evidence. Gabriel sensed that Sam's hesitation and got up. His ankle gave out somewhat and he stumbled.

Sam gingerly got up and took him by the arm. His head was spinning and he felt that he was about to pass out at any given moment, but Gabriel glanced at him gratefully and it was worth the struggle. Together, they slowly made their way back into Sam's bedroom. When Sam flicked on the light, his body instantly tensed as a reflex. Then he relaxed; the ominous sensation of someone else's eyes on him had disappeared.

“This the drawer you mentioned?”

Gabriel gestured to the dresser standing vigilantly beside the door frame. Sam hummed his agreement and helped his friend over to it. His body was beginning to ache, like he'd been thrown form the top of a building and slammed onto the pavement. Gabriel laid a hand on Sam's lower back to keep him from swaying. He then peered down at the wrinkled clothes and scrunched up his nose as though he'd smelled something bad. Sam had to lean down to catch his eye.

“What is it?”

“Ugh. You don't smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Like...like sex,”

“Excuse me?”

Gabriel ignored his friend's offended incredulity and took his arm from Sam's hold. Limping, he made his way over to Sam's bed and gathered the comforter in his hands. He lifted the blanket to his nose and sniffed. Gabriel coughed and quickly put it back down. Part of Sam wanted to defend his blanket and say that it didn't smell as bad as it seemed. But then his friend turned to him with a troubled expression that reminded Sam that someone else had slept there- a stranger.

“I need to ask you a personal question, 'kay, Samalot?”

“Uh, sure?”

“How often do you jack off on your bed?”

“Wh-what?!”

Sam felt as though his entire body was burning with embarrassment. Gabriel didn't seemed fazed by this, however, and patiently waited for the response to his question. Sam spluttered and avoided Gabriel's piercing gaze by staring at the carpet. His hand flew to his hair and he scratched at the back of his head to hide his mortification. What the hell kind of a question-? Who asks that?!

“I'd rather not tell you,”

“It's important. Besides, it's not exactly breaking news, you know,”

“Then why ask?”

“Just answer the damn question,”

“I dunno! I guess...I did it the other night. B-but it was just to-,”

Gabriel held up a hand to stop him. Sam was more than happy to stop talking. Gabriel grunted as he awkwardly got down to the floor and peered under the bed. He appeared to be looking for something. Sam coughed to ease some of the humiliation he felt. He shiftily glanced towards the balcony, his cheeks on fire. Jeez, Sam felt like steam was about to start rising from his face.

“If you're looking for toys, they're not under there,” he muttered. His statement was greeted by silence. Sam didn't register what he had done until about five seconds after it was already too late. Wait, did he say that out loud? Gabriel paused and slowly turned his surprised yet grinning face in Sam's direction. He cleared his throat after seeing how flustered Sam was and gestured to the clutter beneath the bed frame.

“I, uh, was seeing if there was any signs that anyone had been hiding under here. But it's good to know you experiment,”

Oh god. If only he could go back in time...Sam scowled as Gabriel laughed and stood awkwardly. Damn that suggestive grin of his. Abruptly, a sort of clicking sound followed by the most powerful headache blasted into Sam's head. He groaned and had to grab his dresser to keep from fainting. Oh, hurry up already! Gabriel moved from the bed to the closet and Sam sobered. He gestured to the closet with a wave of his hand and a wary frown.

“I felt someone watching me from in there,”

“Like the monster when you were a kid? That kind of feeling?”

“Yeah, actually. That's a pretty accurate description,”

Gabriel frowned, his serious face back in business. He swung open the doors and scrounged around for a disturbance. When Sam saw the troubled shift in Gabriel's expression, he shuffled over, holding his head with one hand. The moment his eyes landed on the carpet, he could see what had caused Gabriel's unease. The blood drained gradually from Sam's face; he'd been right. Staining the floor were four dark marks: two feet and an ass print.

 **October 4** **th** **. 2:36 pm.**

Nick leaned against his kitchen counter, absently stirring his cup of tea. His head cocked ever so slightly to the side as he coldly assessed the young boy sipping from a yellow mug of steaming tea. His eyes were alight with a dangerous calculating gleam, as though he were waiting for something. Once again, the poor ostiary remained oblivious to the horrifying plans awaiting him. He was still hellbent on the theory that he was getting what he deserved. And in a way, Adam was correct.

Nick calmly set his cup to the side, the liquid within long since cooled. As Adam chatted about useless topics that the killer could quite frankly careless about, he slowly but surely drank the entire cup of tea. When the final drop hit Adam's tongue, Nick's face broke from collected to utterly fiendish. His own tongue flicked out and licked at the corner of his mouth where Balthazar's cut was scabbing over.

The time had come to set his plan into action. By now, it must have taken effect...Adam set down the cup and sheepishly looked over at the clock on the wall. Nick followed his example and he, too, glanced up at the sluggishly ticking timepiece, his gaze positively smoldering. Only twenty minutes had passed by. Adam shyly fiddled with the handle of his mug, not looking at Nick.

He was beginning to feel guilty about drinking tea and chatting the minutes away when he ought to be warning other people about the threat of being robbed. The thought of a burglar with a gun creeping into one of the tenants houses...and something awful transpiring...it gave Adam the shakes. He couldn't bear to hear that an act like that had occurred under his watch. The stool shrieked as he shoved it back.

“I should go now. Other residents need me to tell them the news. Thanks for the tea, uh, Nick,”

“Did you think you were leaving? You're not going anywhere,”

“Okay,”

Just like that, Adam was under Nick's control. He would do everything and anything Nick asked of him and he would do it willingly- happily. And come tomorrow morning, Adam wouldn't remember a thing. He was going to wake up in his apartment, unsure of how the hell he got there because the last thing he recalled was having tea with the creepy resident. Nick would be the only person who was aware of what was about to happen and that was the way he liked it.

“Tell me everything you know about the Winchesters. Don't leave out any details,”

Adam complied, spilling the minimal knowledge he possessed about Sam and his older brother Dean. He told Nick all about how the three of them were related through John Winchester, how neither of the other brothers had a clue of Adam's blood ties. He revealed this information without hesitation, as though it was a completely normal thing for him to do. But Nick wasn't interested in the sob story the doorman was spewing; he wanted the juicy bits.

“Yes, yes, I know all of this. Is there anything interesting that I should know about?”

“Sam, Dean, Castiel, and that guy Gabriel are all going to Dad's house for Dean's friend Benny's funeral,”

Nick perked up; Sam was going where? His teeth pulled back into a vicious snarl and he surged forward. His hands gripped the counter in a vise clutch, knuckles bound to turn white. His eyes were nearly black as they bore into Adam's. The boy appeared unaffected by the frightening display of fury; in fact, he looked very much like Nick had responded in a completely natural manner. When Nick spoke, his voice was harsh and sounded more like a demon than an actual human being talking.

“When did you hear about this? When are they leaving? Where does this John Winchester live?”

“I overheard them talking about it on their way to the police station. They came down the stairs with that police woman and were telling her all about it. I was looking for more batteries for my flashlight at my desk, so I was in the right place at the right time, I guess. Sam mentioned that they were leaving in a couple days. I think he said October seventh. Dad lives in Kansas. I don't know his exact address,”

So little Sammy thought that he could just leave without Nick knowing? Nick shook his head in wide arcs. There was no way in hell that he would allow Sam to just leave. Angrily, Nick took Adam's cup and chucked it across the room where it shattered against the wall and scattered the dark hardwood with yellow fragments of porcelain. Heaving a breath, the man turned back to Adam who looked back with a calm blink.

“What else do you know about why they're going?”

“Apparently, Dad called Dean and told him that Benny had been murdered. That his body was found under a bridge and that his head was nowhere to be found. He and Dean had a pretty big fight about it and Sam said that they were all going to sort things out. I had no idea what he meant by that. That's all I know,”

Nick stared at Adam, his face feral and reeling in disbelief. It all made sense now. He had originally wondered what had caused Sam's halfwit of a brother to go on a rampage, but now...Nick had never felt more livid in his entire life. That idiot! He had asked the blundering fool to do one thing. One simple, simple little task. And his so-called servant had completely botched it up by leaving evidence.

Seething, Nick took out his cellphone and dialed the man's number. As it rang, he turned to Adam, regarding the lad like a bug he wanted to squash. The young man looked at him innocently while also comprehending that Nick was utterly disgusted with his existence. For him, he could comprehend that something was wrong. That what he had just done had been unforgivable. But Adam could not speak out, could not escape or shout for help.

“You've done enough. Get out. Talk to no one, unless asked where you are going. Tell them you are on your way home. Go up to your apartment and take a shower. Then go straight to bed,”

“Sure thing,”

And Adam slid out of his chair, crossed the floor, and left with the door wide open behind him. Nick snorted; it was always so easy. One slip of his precious powder and he could manipulate any one he wanted. All he had to do was wait until his victim's attention was elsewhere then slip the drug into their drinks or waft it into their general direction. The moment they consumed it- be it by smelling or by drinking it- they became his zombies.

The best part about it was they were aware of their surroundings, conscious in every sense of the word, but their free will was completely stripped. Power over the person's actions was given to Nick and Nick alone. Yep, one whiff or sprinkle of the Devil's Breath overtook the murderous fiend's victims and placed them under his tender guidance.

Nick snickered to himself; mugging that dealer during his trip to Colombia had been his best decision yet. Well, besides ordering that tree in his room illegally online. Sure, the act had been his downfall and got him caught after a few days due to the guy's buddies calling the police on him. But getting his bloodied hands on the bag of the delicately wrapped drug had been worth the incarceration.

“Who the devil is this? You'd better have a good reason for calling me during-,”

“Hello, Crowley. Remember me?”

The other line instantly quieted. Delicious cowardice crackled over Nick, causing him to shudder; he truly loved feeling others' fear. It was as intoxicating as Sam's scent. There was what sounded like shuffling and panicked breaths. A door slam and a clicking noise of a sliding lock then more breathing. Nick waited impatiently, tapping his foot against the linoleum of his kitchen floor.

“Why are you calling me? I did what you wanted,”

“You were sloppy, Crowley,”

Nick spoke in a chilling sing song voice. He could audibly hear the man on the other end's breath die in his throat. The killer felt himself twitch beneath his belt; that was such a glorious sound. He had to give Crowley credit though. Despite the obvious terror the man was experiencing, he maintained his snarky attitude. Nick smirked; he knew there had been a good reason for choosing the man as his new henchman. Granted, Crowley hadn't really had a choice...

“What are you talking about? I killed the guy and took off his head like you said. Got rid of the body. Dumped it where no one could find it, like you told me. I don't see how I could have been sloppy if I did as you asked. Maybe it was your directions that were at fault,”

“The police found him. Identified him and told his family and friends. Now, I don't know about you, Mr. Crowley, but if someone decided to, oh I don't know, call those same policemen and tell them exactly who did it and where they are residing, I think they would be appreciative. Don't you think?”

“You wouldn't do that. Because if you tell them where I am, I'll tell them where you are and all the things you've done,”

Crowley spoke with spite in his tone, sharp and aggravated. But thanks to Nick's excellent hearing, the waver was presented loud and clear. Crowley knew that Nick could destroy him with a single phone call, but he refused to go down without dragging his master with him. And this was something that drew Nick to him like a lion with a deer. So, being the prick he was, he tutted in a disappointed tone.

“Why, Crowley, is that a threat I hear? If I recall correctly, you swore yourself to me. In blood. The day I almost murdered your mother, right? And you wanted to take her place because you couldn't bear the thought of Mumsie taking the blade. Please, feel free to chime in if I got anything wrong,”

“Worst mistake of my life. You know she is infatuated with you? Thinks you're the bloody Devil himself, sent to punish her for being into witchcraft,”

“Well, isn't she charming?”

“More like sadistic. Look, what do you want? To gloat over my mistakes? It won't happen again, you know,”

“On the contrary, I have another job for you. It's regarding that...new toy I was telling you about,”

“...I'm listening,”

**October 4 th. 6:19 pm**

The Winchesters' apartment filled with the final glowing rays of the setting sun, painting the walls and furniture with warm colors of orange and red. Sitting beside Gabriel on the couch, Sam squinted and held his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. Cas and Dean sat side by side on the love seat while Charlie snuggled cozily on the armchair. The three of them had arrived about two hours ago.

After a touching reunion and an affectionate but exasperated cuff on the head from Dean to Sam, all four men sat down and explained their findings. Sam had been more than enthusiastic to help out Jody and Gabriel, after some rather piteous pleading from Sam, had grumpily agreed. But when the two relayed Adam's helpful warning and the signs of intrusion in Sam's bedroom, the previously lighthearted conversation took a serious turn.

But before any of them could really discuss it, a wild Charlie had appeared after sneakily disobeying Mayor Braeden's orders to stay in their own homes. She had burst through the door, loud and cheerful, bearing gifts in the forms of alcoholic beverages and fattening junk food. The coffee table was now filled to its edges with Little Debbie cakes, cookies, chip bags, and an assortment of five bottles of alcohol. It had turned out to be quite the party.

“So, who do you think could have been in the apartment?” Dean asked, his voice only slightly slurred. Sam, crunching on a handful of Cheetos, shrugged and gestured vaguely, implying silently that it could have been anyone. Gabriel belched beside him as he polished off another Zebra Cake. Castiel glared at him in disapproving disgust then looked back at Sam. His eyes were solemn and his face seemed drawn with concern and stress.

“Are you certain the marks on your floor resembled where someone was sitting? Could you have gone in there and thrown your wet clothes in that spot directly?”

“Nah. There was definitely somebody there. I'm sure of it,”

“Hey, Cassy, you should tell the Warden about it. She'll figure out who this creep is,”

Castiel shook his head. Dean took a long swig of what looked like a bottle of green apple flavored vodka and hiccuped. He squinted at Gabe and stuck his tongue out in an almost comical way. Charlie, silently munching on Sour Patch Kids, giggled as another loud burp burst out of Gabriel as a sort of response to Dean's annoyance. Sam, who had drunkenly placed his head in the man's lap, looked up at Gabriel with his brows raised.

Gabriel shrugged and studied Sam, who'd hummed dismissively and returned to his attack on the bag of Cheetos. The man was rosy-cheeked and his eyes were hazy with intoxication. His skin felt too feverish to possibly be normal and, in between crunches of the cheesy curls, Sam kept coughing. And if that didn't prove he was sick, his voice crackled when he spoke, as though his throat had been through a shredder.

A flash of movement caught Gabriel's eye and he briefly glanced over at Charlie, whose introduction had been a hug and a cheery “welcome to the family, fellow nerd”. She had tipped the bag of sour candy into her mouth and was spilling white dust all over her purple sweater with the panda on it. Sam swallowed the chewed up Cheetos in his mouth and took a swig of beer to make sure his voice was clear.

“She's too busy with other crap, Gabe. Jody can't be bothered with stuff like this,”

“But-,”

“I agree with Sam, Gabriel. You know better than all of us how strained her patience has become. If we bring this to her attention, it will more than likely be dismissed or forgotten,”

“Cas has a point. Sheriff Jody has too much on her plate to deal with something like a home invasion,”

“You think it could be that guy from the coffeehouse?”

Everyone turned their heads to stare at Charlie, who froze like a deer in headlights. Sam cleared his throat, nearly choking. She caught his glowering eyes and held her hands out in a surrendering pose. A yellow Sour Patch Kid rolled down the front of her shirt and landed with a soft, barely audible thump.

“What?”

“You mean our neighbor Nick?”

“Yeah, that dude,”

“What makes you think it was him?”

“I dunno. It just seems like it'd be something he'd do. From what you guys were saying, he seems pretty into you, Sam,”

Sam snorted and sat up. He knocked back a shot of tequila and winced as it burned on the way down his sore throat. Dean watched his younger brother with a uneasy expression; Sammy never drank this much. And from what he'd seen earlier, he wasn't feeling well. His sibling had already visited the toilet twice since Dean had gotten home. While he kept insisting that he was fine, Sam wasn't fooling anyone.

Dean fidgeted in his seat; he wanted to fuss and fret over his younger brother, to treat Sam the way he used to when he got sick as a child. There was a powerful urge in his fingers to go over to Sam and rip the bottle out of his hands. To order him to go to bed and to give him soup. But Dean was also aware that it wasn't what Sam wanted from him. Frustrated, he stared down at the carpet, heated eyes tearing up a little.

“Well, if it wasn't Nick, then maybe it was the guy I saw yesterday,”

Charlie shifted into an Indian style perch, pale legs crossed. Her eyes were downcast and staring at nothing in particular. Her mouth turned down into a brooding pout. Her brow furrowed as she remembered the strange encounter with the man. His whole behavior had been so off-base and made little to no sense. Like, who the hell gets attacked by a cat in October? It wasn't even close to Halloween yet! And it was cold out...so-

“Charlie! Hey! What guy?”

“Oh! Sorry, Dean, wasn't listening. Let's see, umm...I was on my way home from work and this guy pulled up beside me. He looked like a creeper and I saw that he had a long fresh cut on his mouth. Right here,”

Charlie used her brightly painted nail to demonstrate where the guy was cut.

“The idiot thought I was staring at him, like I was attracted to him. Which was freaking gross. He was acting all smug and shit, but the minute I told him about the cut, he changed. It was like the dude didn't even know about it. He played it off with some crap story about how a cat got him on the way to his car, but I didn't believe it for a second,”

“You catch a glimpse of what this guy looked like, Little Red?”

The nickname sort of slipped out of Gabriel's mouth. He stiffened, sure that Charlie would object to being called a character from a storybook. But, surprisingly enough, she didn't seem to mind- rather, she shot him a grin. Which disappeared the moment Charlie the stranger's appearance came to mind. Her eyes darkened as she recalled the unsettling gleam in his gaze as he stared her down.

“Erm, blondish hair, kinda scruffy, wearing a hat, I think. It was dark, so I couldn't see much. But his voice was...scary. Sorta like hearing a villain pretending to be a hero. And his eyes, ugh, they were the worst. I-I can't really describe them,”

As the redhead shuddered, Sam, Dean, and Cas all shared a knowing look. There was no mistaking it. That was Nick alright. Gabriel, who had barely spoken, quizzically tilted his head. He had no idea what the hell anyone was talking about? Who was this Nick guy? And why did that name spark recognition? Cas, thankfully, took notice and tried his best to explain.

“Nick is a neighbor down the hall. He just recently moved in. We found out that he works as the manager over at the new coffeehouse across the street from the antique shop the three of us own. From what Charlie was describing, it sounds like the man she saw may just be him,”

“Not to mention the guy's been too chummy with Sammy. He gives me the creeps. I don't like him,”

“Dean, that's not-,”

“...you know his last name, Cassy?”

“It's- oh,”

Castiel stopped, face falling in confusion. Sam and Dean both understood his dilemma. Nick had never provided his last name. It had just been...well, Nick. Gabriel set down his box of treats and swiped some crumbs from his mouth. His eyes were dark and grave, as though he was pondering something that was far from pleasant. There were too many missing pieces to this puzzle. And he was sure that this Nick character fit into most of them.

“Um, I don't mean to ruin the dramatic moment here, but can someone help me into the bathroom? I'm going to upchuck sour people and it's not going to be pretty,”

Charlie was hurriedly carried into the bathroom, courtesy of Dean, and the night continued without returning to the discussion. All the same, it wasn't long before Sam was joining the violently ill woman in the lavatory, each of them puking horrendously loud. Poor Dean was stuck with the barfing duo, more than likely being the Soother- rubbing backs, holding back hair, and murmuring reassurances. Gabriel and Castiel were left with the clean up out in the living room.

It only took about forty five minutes for the place to get tidied up, but hearing the noises and moans of disgust from Dean, proved to be more of a distraction than the Novak brothers realized. Castiel would pause while stuffing an empty bottle of beer into the trashcan, flinching as either Sam's hoarse coughing or Charlie's retching exploded from behind the bathroom door. Gabriel simply blocked it out, focusing intensely on his task.

Thankfully, the pair weren't in there for too long. They had come out of the bathroom with freshly brushed teeth, sheepish expressions, and greenish pale complexions. It took longer for Dean to reemerge from the bathroom, but when he did...well, let's just say he'd seen things. They'd all congregated back in the living room and everything from then on out went smoothly. Until they all started drinking again.

Now, Dean was murmuring something in Castiel's ear, causing Gabriel's younger brother to flush pink and whisper back. Both men were sitting hip to hip and were leaning far too close to one another to be friendly. Gabriel, who was probably the only person who wasn't drunk, sighed. He knew that there ought to be something done about the pressing situation. That this wasn't some crook that got away and the whole situation could be swept under the rug.

He wasn't sure if anyone else could feel the spine tingling sensation that lingered in the house like a ghost. But Gabriel did. And it scared him to death. Not for his own safety, but for Sam and his family. He had only been there for one day, but already the man felt like he belonged there. Like the other four people in the room actually cared for him and accepted him for who he was. _Get over yourself._

Even if this wasn't the truth and Gabriel was just fooling himself, it was already too late. He'd made up his mind and was bound and determined to protect these endearingly thick people with his life. Because that was what family was about- loving and protecting those you care about. Especially if a despicable perv tried to wedge their way into the equation. If the Warden couldn't be contacted to help, then Gabriel would just have to do something on his own.

Sam poked his cheek, startling the man from his inner thoughts. He was greeted by a lopsided grin and a blast of whiskey mixed with stale minty breath. To Gabriel's great discomfort, Sam straddled his waist and wrapped his arms loosely around his neck. ' _You're not making this easy. Please stop. I want to be your friend, like you want,'_ Gabriel thought desperately. But his mouth felt stuck shut, like it was filled with peanut butter.

“You know your forehead looks like a sad old man when you're thinking?”

“N-no. Did you know that you're cutting off the circulation to my legs?”

“Yep, and you're enjoying every minute of it,”

Sam giggled and started fiddling with Gabriel's hair. Instead of shooting off a flirty reply, Gabe grunted and halfheartedly took a bite of a Snickers bar to distract himself. Sam's excessively affectionate touching and evident coquettish attitude were doing nothing to ease poor Gabriel's inner debate. But he refused to return the gestures. Sam had been adamant about where their relationship stood and Gabriel wasn't about to cross that line.

Besides, this wasn't really Sam that was interacting with him, not really. This was the drunk version- someone that was carefree and unbound by his morals. Note, Gabriel was not exactly complaining about receiving such attention from the man he was in love with, but this wasn't the way he wanted it. He didn't want Sam to be sloshed with liquor, unable to think. Gabriel wanted his friend to be completely coherent and making the conscious decision to touch him.

Which was why he gently took Sam's hands away from his hair and set them on the drunken man's stomach. Like a dork, Sam began to drum on his belly, creating a beat that didn't flow whatsoever. Using the utmost of care, Gabriel lightly shoved Sam to the other side of the couch, where he proceeded to cuddle one of the cushions. He then huffed a sigh and glanced up at the pair sitting on the love-seat. And, boy, was he in for a sight.

In the most tender of embraces, Cas and Dean stared at one another intimately. They didn't kiss nor did they touch anywhere else but the others' face. Watching the way the two lightly caressed their partners' cheeks like they were the most precious thing in the world...it sent a lance of pain through Gabriel's heart. Those idiots hadn't even said a word to the other about their feelings and yet both reciprocated and displayed such a powerful longing that it was embarrassing to witness.

Sam suddenly snuggled against Gabriel's hoodie and wrapped his arms around his waist. He might as well have pierced him with two hot tongs. Helplessly, Gabriel went to remove himself from Sam's grasp when the sleepy dork murmured, “I don't hate you, you know.” Damn it. He just had to say the one thing Gabriel wanted to hear. A wave of relieved sadness washed over the lovesick sap and left him heavy and imprisoned in his spot on the couch.

The room had grown dark by this point. Charlie could be heard snoring from her perch on the armchair while Cas and Dean had shifted into sleeping positions on the mini sofa. Gabriel quirked an eyebrow; this would be the perfect time to snap a picture. But the nerd was so content in Dean's arms...Gabriel couldn't find it in his heart to blackmail his brother. He'd let Cassy have this moment.

Sam wasn't quite asleep yet. He was growing drowsy rather quickly though. Gabriel shook his head and his big brother mode clicked on. After extracting himself from the quietly protesting Sam's entangling limbs, he carefully maneuvered through the dark like a newly blinded man to the linen closet. Relying on his sense of touch, Gabriel removed some blankets and sheets, which he used to drape over the pair on the couch and the drooling redhead on the chair.

Charlie hummed happily in her sleep and nuzzled the back cushion of the chair. A smile worked its way past Gabriel's frown; he'd missed having a little sister to look after. He brushed a lock of hair from her face and felt a rush of affection for the girl he'd just met. ' _You're pathetic_ ,' he thought to himself, ' _You show up out of nowhere and you think after spending not even a full day with them that you're family? Grow up.'_

Gabriel reluctantly moved away from Charlie and glanced at the two on the love seat. Both men sighed in contentment. ' _Dorks_ ,' Gabriel thought as he went into Sam's bedroom. He opened the door as wide as it could go and, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, went to work on replacing the sheets and comforter with fresh ones he'd slung over his shoulder; there was no chance in hell that Sam was going to sleep on violated linen.

When Gabriel returned to the living room, Sam was sitting up. He appeared to be drinking out of Dean's abandoned vodka bottle. Tiredly, Gabriel took away the bottle and, despite the slurred protests, set it on the coffee table. He would thank him later; Sam had already had too much tequila which only empowered the looming hangover destined for the next morning.

“Come on, Samsie. Time for bed,”

“Not tired,”

“Too bad. You have to sleep,”

“Who's gonna make me?”

There was a challenge in the boozed up man's tone. Too exhausted to deal with his shit, Gabe pointedly scooped the lanky Sam up into his arms bridal style. This was not easy to do considering he was short and was carrying an almost literal giant, but Gabriel was stubborn and took Sam into his bedroom. He laid him awkwardly on the bed and tried to straighten up. Sam hurriedly wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Let go, Samsquatch. I have to go to bed, too, and I can't if you-,”

“But if you go, I won't be able to do this,”

Gabriel felt the warm, wet touch of Sam's lips against the skin of his cheek. His eyes squeezed shut; that was just unfair. Gabriel firmly took Sam's arms and practically wrenched them away from his neck. His heart seemed to be beating around a shard of glass, sending pain through his chest with each thump. Sam made a noise of confusion and grabbed Gabriel's hand as the poor flustered man tried to leave.

“Enough. Please, you told me no. And you're drunk. It wouldn't be right,”

Although hurt, Sam seemed to thankfully understand. But he didn't release the other man's hand. Instead, he tugged him closer and buried his face into Gabriel's side. The room no longer felt filled with heated promises. Instead, there was a hovering dismal ambiance that made Gabriel want to curl up and sleep for days. Sam took in a sudden shaky breath and looked up at his friend.

“I don't want to sleep alone. Will you stay?”

“Samsie, I just told you. We can't-,”

“No sex, just sleep. Please. I-I haven't slept well in weeks,”

Gabriel knew that it was a bad idea. He knew that Sam was going to regret it in the morning. Hell, he knew that he was going to have to launch into a full spiel of what really happened. But there was a look of desperation and exhaustion in those hazel eyes that pulled fiercely at his heartstrings. So, with a defeated sigh, Gabriel clambered onto the bed with Sam and laid down next to him. Clearly relieved, Sam immediately turned over and hugged his friend to his chest.

“Thanks for this. You're a great friend,”

Gabriel felt a pang on his chest and squeezed his lids shut, ignoring the single tear that rolled down his cheek. It dripped from his chin and landed on the sheet below him. Sam didn't notice and began to pet Gabriel's hair without thinking. This time, Gabe just let him do it, not even caring anymore. He knew that this behavior would stop in the morning and they'd return to being nothing but friends.

Deep down, Gabriel was fine with this. If putting aside his own feelings just for a chance to keep Sam in his life, then that would work for him. Besides, being friends wasn't exactly a downgraded alternative. As long as Sam liked him- be it in a platonic or in a romantic way- that was all Gabriel asked for. Anything but to have Sam hate him again. He shuddered and shoved the thought away.

“...sure. Now, time for some shut eye, okay?”

“Yeah. Night, Gabriel,”

“...goodnight, Sam,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I did do heavy research on the Devil's Breath AKA Scopolamine, I do not claim to know everything there is to know about this drug/plant. Also, the portrayal of being under the influence of the drug is of my own interpretation based from interviews and is in no way to be considered a mockery of what it is actually like. My sincerest condolences to those victims.


	9. Sick Days And Bonnie Raitt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Lots of self-depreciating thoughts. As well as a minor implication to suicide and rape.

**October 5 th. 3:00am.**

The sky was always beautiful after a storm. Stars seemed to put forth all of their power into how brightly they shined. The moon was a beacon of glowing light as it proudly beamed upon the Earth. It shimmered in droplets on the dew covered leaves of the trees and gleamed against the sharp blades of grass. Even the concrete of the sidewalk was glittering. It truly was a magnificent sight to behold. But, with all things beautiful, corruption was swiftly closing in to crush it.

Crickets sang chirpily from the grass, quieting briefly as a pair of thudding footsteps plundered passed them. A rustling, scraping sound, like someone discontentedly dragging a trash bag, interrupted the tranquility of the night. Frogs hopped out from the soggy grass as they scrambled to get away from the source of the racket. One frog unfortunately made the mistake of jumping right onto the sidewalk. It tried to hop away, but it was too late.

Its final moments were of looking up and seeing the engraved black soles of a boot coming towards it. The frog let out a panicked _'ribbit!'_ that was cut short by the force of the foot slamming down on its tiny body. The scream-like croak wetly transformed into a sickening, squelching _'blargh'_ as the frog's insides erupted from its mouth and eyes. The sound spawned a multitude of terrified critters to flee the scene but remained unnoticed by the perpetrator.

The now desecrated corpse lay smashed to the concrete, ignored and forgotten. Its killer simply continued walking- or rather slinking- to the specified location: a giant oak tree. Guided by the light of the moon overhead- the streetlamps had all been cleverly severed by some coincidentally placed tree branches-, the mysterious malefactor paused beneath the cover of the thick leaves.

Eyes shifting rapidly about, the man untied the black trash bag and deftly extracted its contents one by one: a shovel, a pickax, a crowbar, a hand broom, and a pair of gardening gloves. A truck lay docile a few feet away from the tree, parked strategically against the curb. Thick wooden beams and long metal poles stuck out from its trunk bed along with a series of different devices that would make any human being faint.

It emanated an off-putting aura in the moonlight; whatever scheme was transpiring that cold October morning, it was not of pure intent. With the crowbar in hand, the man began to pry up the square of sidewalk in front of the tree when his cellphone began to vibrate. Rolling his eyes nearly into the back of his skull, he curtly answered it. The second the miffed Scottish accent began to berate him, his entire body seemed to sag.

“Where'd you run off to now, Fergus? You know that this is the time for our favorite ritual,”

“Mother, as much as I enjoy sacrificing screaming rabbits while you're induced in another of your devil fantasies, I have work to do. And stop calling me Fergus,”

“Oh, I see. That man calls out of the blue and suddenly I'm not enough for you, yes? Did you even mention me?”

Crowley sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; sarcasm obviously wasn't going to get through this time. He could honestly say the thought of sending the nutcase he worked for after the woman who claimed to have birthed him crossed his mind more than a hundred times. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about it in the moment at hand.

“Mother, I'm busy. Go skin a lizard or something,”

“You're keeping secrets. What did he say about me?”

“If I tell you he thinks you're charming, will you leave me alone?”

As his mother ignored his plea and gushed about his employer, Crowley rolled his eyes up towards the stars and began cursing under his breath. He only had a short period of time to do this job and with his witch mother yapping on and on about Lucifer, he might as well hand his ass over. Wait. Not Lucifer. If Crowley recalled, the killer was going by Nick now. His boss had mentioned briefly that the name had been inspired from a murdered victim of his.

Lodging the phone against his ear with his head tilted into his shoulder, Crowley began to dig. As the smell of wet dirt and leaves filled his nose, he recalled the night that Lucifer- er, Nick- had come after he and his mother Rowena. The man had mentioned with pride that he could slit her throat just as easily as he had with his brother. Crowley frowned; a name had come up as the killer boasted. He couldn't quite remember exactly what that name had been, but he was certain of one thing. Nick...had not been it.

**October 5 th. 10:23 am.**

A stream of warm yellow sunlight shone brightly through the blinds, illuminating the living room with soft beams. The lines of light lay in stripes across the carpet and the back of the love seat. Because the love seat faced the door rather than the windows, the sun bypassed over it completely and fell over the couch cushions, much to Dean's relief. It was the only thing that he had to be happy about; everything else about this morning was already turning out to be a real drag.

His whole body ached like he'd been slammed to the ground multiple times by a wrestler. His nose was congested like someone had super-glued a brick to his face. An entire circus act performed flips and twists in his stomach. Ugh, why had he eaten that whole box of miniature pies? And why the hell did he combine that with vodka and beer? He shuddered; never again. He would never touch another bottle again.

Dean trailed his sandpaper textured tongue over his chapped lips. He needed a drink- his mouth was as dry as a saltine cracker. There must have been a spare bottle of beer around, but water seemed far more appealing. The back of his throat twinged angrily as though in agreement. His brows scrunched as he swallowed what little spit he could muster; he wasn't usually this thirsty, even while being hungover.

Perhaps it was because of how hot he was. Whatever blanket he'd managed to somehow find last night was heavy and provided more heat than Dean needed. He frowned; when had he gotten up to get a blanket? He couldn't remember. Then again, there was much he couldn't remember about last night. His cheek smooshed against the arm cushion as he snuggled down. A ticklish sensation flicked at the tip of his nose and almost made him want to sneeze.

' _It must be the tag of a comforter_ ,' he thought. Mmm, it was very soft. Odd, since tags usually consisted of thin, itchy paper material. Not feathers that smelled the way the air did after it rained, of crisp autumn leaves, mixed with the pages of old books. Dean took in a deep inhale through his nose, letting the somehow familiar aroma wash over him. Along with the others, a new pair of odors emerged- stale alcohol and sweat. The moment his lashes fluttered open curiously, a sleepy moan rumbled against his chest.

Adrenaline dropped his stomach and paralyzed his muscles. His lungs constricted tightly, causing his breath to wheeze and whistle through his nose. _Ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud_. His heartbeat quickened considerably, the thudding almost painful. Eyes, burning from how big they had widened, glanced down. Dean choked, nearly swallowing his tongue. A face nuzzled up against him, long lashes brushing against his collarbone.

The clues previously jumbling in Dean's head crashed together in clarity. Instantly, the identity of who was laying with him revealed itself. Almost like it was hiding behind a magician's cape. Dark downy hair brushed against the underside of Dean's jaw. Scratchy, morning scruff scraped against the sepia corduroy cushion. A straight nose and chapped lips lightly smushed against the freckled skin of Dean's chest. Warm breath puffed out in slow, even sighs.

An arm tugged him closer from behind his back while the other lay tucked like an injured bird's wing. Legs were entangled around Dean's like clinging ivy. Heat emitted from the slumbering form, serving as the perfect conduit of comfort, thus relinquishing the blanket's purpose. Sometime during the night, the two had managed to strip themselves of all of their clothing except for their boxers. Skin to skin, Dean and Castiel had fallen asleep on the love seat. Together.

Dean was a hyperventilating rabbit lying pressed to a giant wolf. There was no escaping this, not without jostling his friend. A faint smile suddenly ghosted over Cas' lips as he dreamed. Dean's stomach fluttered; what could have put that there? Could it have been him? Murmuring some unintelligible nonsense, Cas tugged at him, snuggling closer. Dean bit his lower lip hard enough to nearly puncture it. Crap. Why'd he have to be so damn cute?

Plunged into such a quandary, a million questions tapped at his mind like an old telegraphing machine. Dean transitioned from being caught off-guard to total panic. How had this happened? When did this happen? Was Cas okay with this? Did he even know about it? Had they done anything? Dean gave a slight shake of his head, at a loss of how to react and horrified by the idea that he could have taken advantage of his best friend.

Sleeping together was one story, but sex was a completely new chapter. Especially drunken sex. God. Anything but that. Cas shifted a little in his sleep, hips bumping gently against Dean's. His hand slid up from the disconcerted man's back to his neck. Dean stiffened, cheeks burning. A shiver involuntarily quivered down his spine as Castiel's fingertips gently grazed the sensitive hairs on his nape.

This was bad. Dean needed to find a way out of this. Immediately. Moving was out of the question; morning wood hadn't been considered when Dean had shifted his thigh upwards. To say he was embarrassed would be an understatement. His eyes glued to the ceiling, Dean carefully moved his leg back down to its original position. Cas fidgeted a little, his previously peaceful expression now screwed up in discomfort.

The second he stirred, the world stopped turning. Heart in his mouth, Dean frantically glanced around for an escape. He couldn't just get up; Cas would surely wake up then. Charlie was still dead to the world asleep on the armchair- mouth wide open and drooling- so he couldn't ask her for help. Going back to sleep was out of the question what with the traitor in his chest blaring. What the hell was he going to do? Pretend like this wasn't a big deal?

He paused to appraise the situation. Cuddling with his best friend in a sleepy embrace on a comfy couch. It was a scene not too far off from what Dean had dreamed once. It would've been perfect except that none of this had been planned. Their intimate embrace? The result of a nugatory, intoxicated fumble- a meaningless reflex of two hazy minds. This wasn't right. And if neither man was unaware of the situation, then taking advantage of it would be despicable. Dean settled back, nonplussed.

Cas hummed sleepily and slowly blinked opened his eyes, tickling Dean's chest with his lashes in the process. His mouth stretched into a huge yawn, hot breath sending goosebumps prickling all down Dean's skin. Cas groggily move closer, nosing softly against the warm body in front of him. For a split second, Dean wanted to kiss the top of his friend's head. But he refrained from doing so, particularly when Castiel tensed up.

In a flurry, the limbs that were previously embracing Dean scrambled away. The once calm breathing was now rapid and shallow, like a mouse trapped in a snake's tank. Eyes that'd sleepily assessed the other human being in front of them were now transfixed in terror. His previously tranquil heart thudded way too loud in his chest. It nearly matched Dean's in speed.

Dean took in what he hope to be a subtle deep breath. Well, here goes nothing. Time to play actor. He allowed himself to yawn, much to Castiel's alarm. The poor man froze in place, not daring to move a single muscle. ' _Treat it like it was any other morning_ ,' Dean told himself. He stretched as much as he could, shifting against Cas. It was like his friend had suddenly stopped breathing. A weary groan erupted from Dean, much to his chagrin; he hadn't been planning that, but hey, it gave more normalcy to the role.

“Morning, Cas,”

Dean pretended not to notice when his friend actually jumped at the sound of his name. Cas took in a horribly shaky breath, stuttering around his numb tongue. Dean heard the tremble in his voice and tried his best not to flinch. ' _Play it cool, man, play it cool,_ ' he told himself.

“G...good morning, Dean,”

“What time is it?”

The pads of his fingers rubbed tiredly at his eyes as Dean pretended to search lazily for his cellphone. Cas peered up at him through dark lashes, eyes squinting with uncertainty and puzzlement. He shook his head hesitantly, hair wild and sticking up in all different directions. Dean fought the urge to grin, briefly abandoning his nervousness; Cas reminded him of a disoriented kitten.

“I'm-I'm not sure. I just woke up myself,”

“Hm, well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready for some breakfast,”

He winked charmingly, while internally tortured with scruple. Cas tilted his head, flummoxed by his friend's behavior. Was he not bothered? Yawning again, Dean shifted onto his elbow and squinted against the glare of the sun. No, he didn't appear to be. Cas picked at his fingernails in trepidation. He wasn't an idiot- the events of the night had surely been inappropriate. How else would they have ended up this way?

One of them ought to say something. To come up with some type of explanation for the night before. Then again, denial was so much easier than acceptance. If fate permitted, Cas could lay there for hours with Dean. Even though the love seat was scratchy and their feet hung over the arm, he held no desire to move at all. It was...heaven.

Bliss- that was what waking up to Dean was for Cas. Strong arms holding him close. Tanned, freckled skin warm from sleep. Dean's current scent of faint leather, sweat, pie, and the muted odor of alcohol. A sense of belonging- like returning home after being away for a long time. It wasn't what Castiel had thought it would be, but it was damn near close enough. He wished it could become a regular occurrence...

His elation towards the embrace dwindled like a burning coal plunged into icy water. Neither man obviously hadn't been conscious in their decision to sleep with one another. And Dean knew this- why else would he be so falsely at ease? Could it be that they had done something? Something they couldn't take back even if they wanted to? If so, was this Dean's way of saying he regretted it?

That must have been it. A cruel wave of dejection pierced washed over him at the realization. Dean had made his feelings quite clear. Last night surely had been the most disgusting night of his life. Coldness flowered under Cas' skin; it was his fault. He knew that drinking would be a bad idea and it turned out that he was correct. Castiel figured he and Dean participated in a one-sided engagement of desperation- in a drunken haze, no doubt.

_If what you're thinking is true, that means you took advantage of him. You raped your best friend._

_'No! I would never!'_ Cas thought in horror. But...god, it made sense. It was already difficult to refrain from revealing his inner desires towards his best friend in a sober state of mind; there was no telling how his drunken self would act. And Dean, being under the influence of alcohol, would not have had a chance to argue if Cas pursued him. Castiel wouldn't have taken a moment to think, to stop himself. It could have happened. 

_How could you? After all he's done for you._

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the repulsion raging within him. Leaving town without a trace had crossed his mind more than once, but now it reared its ugly head again. Sam would never forgive him, Gabriel would hate him, and causing Charlie to cry nearly gave Cas an ulcer. Running away never solved anything, but Cas wasn't sure if he could face being around Dean after...knowing what he did to him. He couldn't stand to see him staring back at in revulsion.

Cas remembered the first time he'd looked into those eyes. Back then, there hadn't been an amiable glow compared to whenever Dean saw him now. When they'd first met, Dean regarded him as he would a stray dog. Not that Cas blamed him; he had been quite the sight to behold. After his family kicked him out, his memory blurred. He remembered being in the police car and muffled panicked conversations with the officers and Gabriel- after that Cas was all alone.

Scrounging for food, water, and a safe place to sleep for the night had become Cas' whole life. At first, he had slept on buses with nothing but the clothes on his back and haunted memories dancing behind his lids. Sometimes, other passengers would leave food or a half drunk bottle of water that he'd use for sustenance. Sooner than he'd planned, the money he'd found in his jean pockets ran out. No bus driver had allowed him to ride their vehicles for free either. Which Cas understood.

But walking proved to be far worse than he could ever have imagined. People did not enjoy having a strange man asking them for things. Some more than others. Cas could sometimes still feel phantom punches and kicks along his body. He dealt with the abuse willingly, thinking he deserved it for not being like normal people. Cas remembered how cold and frightened he'd been during that time, especially when night came around.

Finding a spot to sleep was torture. Police officers constantly directed him elsewhere, stern-faced and unrelenting. The sun was relentless, having burned Castiel's skin to painful redness that made leaning against walls impossible. Alleyways proved to be more accessible, but they were all terrifying and smelled like rot and sewage. But they sheltered him- that was all Cas could hope for. It was actually in an alleyway where Dean found him.

Rain had been pouring from the skies for weeks, forcing Cas to camp under a dumpster lid. He'd propped it against a brick wall, diverting the rain from his tiny makeshift sleeping area into the garbage. Unfortunately, while the rain could not reach him, the unrelenting wind could. Cas remembered vividly how it bit at his exposed fingers and face like the tendrils of a whip.

Dean had been carrying a bag of cheeseburgers and French fries when he'd passed Cas' alleyway. Its intoxicating aroma had drifted over to where Cas had been nesting. Nearly overcome with hunger, Cas had scrambled from the worn pile of blankets he'd found behind a furniture store. His bare feet tripped over a sheet corner which had sent him sprawling into a dirty puddle. Alarmed by the splash, Dean had come running.

Cas could remember the abrupt relief from the frigid rain pounding against him as Dean's umbrella hovered over him. Water dripping from his unruly, greasy hair, Cas had lifted his grimy face, blood trickling from his nose and split lip. With the dim lighting of the neon signs illuminating his outline, Dean was like an angel- a pink, lavender, and blue colored angel but still. He squatted in front of Cas and asked if he was alright.

When he saw Cas' nosebleed, he immediately reached into the bag of food and took out a set of grease spotted napkins. He apologetically handed them to Cas, who had sat up and pressed a few to his nose. He had been about to thank Dean when the man had held out one of the burgers. Startled, Cas had looked up and met his eyes. Instead of the usual repulsion and hatred he saw when others glared at him, all he could see in Dean's was kindness with a little splash of pity.

Which was why Cas hesitated in taking the burger from Dean. It smelled delicious and Castiel's stomach had rumbled piteously, but part of him had continued to decline. Dean had frowned, looked down at the burger, then back up at Cas. “It's safe, man. I just bought it from that restaurant down the street,” he'd reassured. It wasn't until Dean had smiled soothingly did Cas accept the offering.

While he was ravenously munching on the mouthwatering burger, Dean had asked him questions. What was his name? Where was he from? When was the last time he'd eaten, had something to drink, or changed his clothes? How long had he been sleeping next to a friggin' dumpster? Cas had answered the questions with his mouth full, burger juices trickling down his chin.

Dean hadn't said anything, waiting for Cas to finish his meal. He'd even taken a container of French fries from the bag and given it to him, which Cas appreciated immensely. It wasn't until he finished eating did Dean ask if he wanted to come home with him. The fear that had rushed through Cas had been evident and Dean had to calm him with hands raised in an _“I come in peace”_ gesture.

Dean had helped Cas up after he'd agreed and took him back to the apartment, Led Zeppelin playing softly from the car's radio. Sam had been at work at the time, which had given Castiel an easier chance of settling in. Not that he did so right away; on the contrary, Cas was so filled with guilt that he'd wanted to turn right back around and curl up under the dumpster lid. But Dean was patient and had given him the rest of the bag of food.

When Cas had questioned what Dean was supposed to eat, he'd shrugged and said he'd find something in the fridge. After Cas had reluctantly finished the remainder of the burgers, Dean showed him how to work the shower. Cas still recalled the grateful tears pricking his eyes when he saw that Dean had given him fresh clothes to wear. He'd even given Cas a brand-new toothbrush, which he claimed to have been saving under the sink.

Clean and full, Castiel had gone into the living room to see Dean talking on a cellphone. He'd glanced over at him and shot him the charming wink Cas was so familiar with today. At the time, Cas had had no idea who Dean had been communing with during that call. Now, he knew that Dean had been schmoozing his landlord to give Castiel the apartment across the hall.

From then on, Dean had been doing nothing but helping him. He'd managed to get the apartment, had given Cas a job at the antique store, and had even gone shopping to buy him a new wardrobe. He helped Cas stock his refrigerator with food, taught him how to cook said food, and offered his own home to him whenever he needed it. Overwhelmed with emotion, Cas could remember crying and hugging Dean with all his might.

To this day, he still didn't understand why Dean had helped him that night. When asked, Dean would always shrug and say the same thing: “You were desperate. No one should ever have to live the way you did.” Each time he said that, something surfaced behind the nonchalance. Something that made Castiel's stomach churn. What it was, he couldn't place into words. All he knew was that he did not want to see it ever again.

Especially not within someone as amazing as Dean. Cas wasn't sure when he realized he was in love with Dean. He liked to think that it was one of those “at first sight” scenarios. It didn't matter exactly when- all he knew was that it had happened and there was no way to shake it. Retrospectively, it could have been pure limerence- a spur of attraction to the one person who had shown him any kind of human decency.

Until he met Sam. It had been his first day at the shop. Dean had had yet to inform his younger brother of Castiel's employment. Cas remembered that he was stocking a few old books onto a shelf when he'd heard the sudden click of a gun. If it hadn't been for Dean walking in a few minutes later, Cas wouldn't have had a head left on his shoulders. After the misunderstanding had been cleared up, Sam treated Cas like a new friend.

He'd given Cas a sense of purpose in that shop: teaching him how to do inventory, how to properly talk with customers, what to do and what not to do when cleaning the antiques, and, of course, how to deal with a grumpy Dean Winchester. If it hadn't been for Sam taking Cas under his wing, he was sure that his time in the antique shop wouldn't have lasted as long as it had. Sam was a true friend.

And Cas cared for Sam. He cared for him immensely. The two had bonded during their time together in the shop and from lazy days in the apartment. So when Sam had mentioned on day that he and Dean regarded him as another brother of sorts, Cas couldn't think of a better title. He was all for being a brother to Sam. However, the thought of being one to Dean...it just sat wrong in his belly.

That was when Cas had learned the difference between what it was to love platonically versus romantically. Note, Castiel loved the Winchester brothers with all of his being. He loved them first like best friends which transitioned into family. He would do anything and everything for the both of them. He would even die for them. It wasn't until the night Sam had told him he was their brother that it all finally clicked.

To be a part of the Winchester family was an honor of itself. Cas couldn't have wished for a higher status. When he was with Sam, it was the same as if he were around a sibling- like Gabriel. Cas never had the desire to run his fingers through Sam's hair, or kiss away a frown, or hold him intimately at night. It felt wrong to even think such things about the man. But he did...with Dean. It shouldn't have crippled Cas the way it did.

But this was why Cas refused to tell Dean how he felt about him. Albeit he was aware of the others being in on his secret crush; how could they not be? Cas practically oozed his attraction to the eldest Winchester. Charlie and Sam, so far, had kept quiet about it which relieved Cas to no end. Even Gabriel seemed to be a member of the club. Dean was the only one who didn't know and that was just how it was going to stay. Or it was supposed to.

Castiel appreciated his friends' support, but now that things had escalated to the point where he couldn't even control himself, what would they think of him? Worse still, how would Dean react? Right now, his friend was all grins and honey voice, but the second he discovered what had transpired last night...would it change? Cas' body chilled as one clear thought pushed through all the others: Dean was going to _hate_ him.

“Cas? You fall back asleep on me?”

“N-no, I didn't. I...I'm sure the others are hungry,”

“Yeah. Especially Sammy. You know how he gets,”

“He does tend to act rather ravenous in the mornings,”

“He'll raid the refrigerator before anyone has the chance to get out of bed,”

Dean laughed softly. Castiel's fingers twitched- the urge to run his thumb over bristly stubble almost too powerful to ignore. Instead, his lips quirked up in the corners softly in response to Dean's playfulness. Between their hushed voices and continuous embrace, the hope that perhaps this could be real and not just a fantasy lingered. Maybe if Cas stayed still, this wouldn't have to end. That perhaps he was wrong about what had happened last night. Maybe it-

_Keep dreaming._

The voice crashed down in a blunt wave of reality. The crushing truth was a burning stab to Castiel's optimistic mood, popping it like a fragile balloon; this wholesome aura was not meant to be between he and his best friend. Happiness and love weren't things that Cas was meant to feel. As his family had once told him: “You are a disgrace. No one will ever care for someone like you.”

_He will never love you._

Cas wrenched himself away from Dean, badly startling him. Blinded by the sudden burst of tears that gushed down his cheeks, he struggled, his movements clumsy. Cas flung the blanket from his nearly naked body and rushed as fast as his legs could carry him out of the apartment. Being alone was all he could think about. His mind told him to go- to get out of there and not look back- yet his heart screamed at him to go back.

The entire hallway seemed to shake with the impact of Castiel's apartment door slamming behind him. Dean, having scrambled up to look over the back of the love seat, stared at the wood of the front door. The leftover warmth from Cas began to fade, leaving nothing but cool air that nipped at Dean's exposed skin. Despair and confusion tightened his throat, making it hard to breathe. Had he...had he done something wrong?

_You knew this was going to happen._

A full bodied flinch was Dean's only response to the condescending voice inside his head. Charlie awoke with a snort and popped her head up from under her own blanket. She peered around the room with a tired expression then focused on Dean. Her arms unfolded from underneath her and she stretched like a cat. As she did so, a huge yawn stretched open her mouth, nearly muffling her voice.

“What'd I miss?”

Dean looked at her in a daze. He'd sat up with the comforter around his waist; it now pooled around his ankles and nuzzled his side. His fingers found his hair and tugged softly. Charlie frowned in concern. Dude looked like he was about to cry. She scratched at her arm, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Dean cleared his throat distractedly and glanced up at the redhead with glassy eyes.

“Nothing...nothing, don't worry about it,”

Before Charlie could question him again, he jumped up and hurriedly fled the room, leaving the redhead puzzled. His bare feet shuffled on the carpet, instantly cramping up the minute they hit the chilled tile floor of the bathroom. Dean slammed the door behind him, chest heaving; he fought the urge to ransack the bathroom with every fiber of his being. He wanted to throw something, punch the wall, just...anything to get rid of this feeling.

He hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and breathed through bared clenched teeth. His body vibrated in place, like a tree during the ripple of an earthquake. The usual hateful voice in his head was muffled by a suffocating cloud of conflicting emotions. Dean wasn't sure what to feel; one moment he wanted to throw up then his hands were twitching to pull his hair out in frustration or he wanted to curl up on the bathroom floor while screaming.

He just...he couldn't understand what he had done that was so terrible to make Castiel leave the way he did. There had been no inappropriate touching, no discomforting remarks- he hadn't even moved. Was it something he said? He didn't think that acting normal would have set Cas off like that. So, what did it? Dean's stomach flexed as his breathing hitched.

 _It was you._ _You disgusted him so much that he couldn't stand to be near you for another second._

Dean clamped his hands over his ears like a child. The door's rough wood slightly lifted his shirt as his knees buckled, nearly sending him crashing to the floor. He stood hunched, using the wood as a crutch. It wasn't true. Cas was his best friend; if he was truly that grossed out by Dean, he wouldn't care so much for him. The voice's words coldly echoed in his brain.

_Sound familiar?_

“Shut up,” he whispered harshly, “You're not real.” Mocking ghostly laughter was a frigid breeze in his head. Dean shakily straightened up and turned on the shower. Maybe the hot water would distract him from the bullshit raging within. Steam billowed from over the glass door, filling the bathroom with nearly stifling heat. Dean stared at the mirror, face grave with haunted eyes.

_Face it, Dean; you're just an empty shell that no one wants to touch._

He watched his reflection obscure from view as the steam fogged up the mirror. With only the blurry outline staring back at him, hopelessness grabbed Dean by the throat and wouldn't let go. All at once, everything was too loud. The shower's constant 'shhhh' sound tormented his eardrums. The urge to shout was nearly unbearable and a hot pooling spot of frustration burned in his gut.

Without thinking, Dean stripped and entered the shower, not bothering to close the door behind him. The water scalded him cruelly as it turned his tanned skin an angry red. Dean's body reacted instinctively and wrenched him from the spray. His back slammed into the shower wall, the knobs of his spine rubbing painfully against the tiles. He looked down at his hands, which shook like a vibrating toothbrush, and his knees buckled beneath him.

Slipping, Dean slid down to the floor, the water burning his feet. He landed unceremoniously onto his ass, his skull smacking against one of the mini shelves used for shampoos. Pain rocketed through him momentarily only to be blatantly ignored. Dean's lower lip quivered as the memory of Castiel tearing himself away from him replayed in his mind's eye. He told himself that that was just Cas being embarrassed.

It had had nothing to do with the fact that it was Dean he'd woken up to. The tops of his feet pulsed and the skin there hurt when he pulled his knees up to his chest. Once out of the water, they began to ache. Again, the painful sensation was disregarded. The only thing that Dean could think about was how vehemently Cas had wanted to get away from him. Had it been so terrible being with him?

_You're nothing. You'll always be nothing. He doesn't love you and he never will. No one does._

Surprisingly enough, it wasn't the voice that broke Dean. He was used to the damn thing spouting out cliché abasement. No, it was hearing Charlie knocking at the door. It was her soft, concerned voice asking him if he was okay. Dean's face crumpled and he curled in on himself. All of what he'd been enduring- both physical and emotional- came at him all at once, choking him with its intensity. Dean bowed his head with a whimper. The shower drowned out the sound of his crying.

Charlie waited by the door of the bathroom, listening apprehensively for Dean's answer. When there came no response, she reluctantly back away, placing the bundle of freshly folded clothes down on the floor. Dean probably needed to be by himself right now. She should leave him to his shower. Hesitating, Charlie lifted her loose fist to knock again at the door then decided against it. Her hair hung in her face as she worriedly gnawed at her lower lip.

Dean hadn't been acting normal out there. Something had happened. Something that she was sure had to do with Castiel, considering the man was nowhere to be found. Tapping her thigh anxiously, Charlie moved away from the door and headed down the hallway. Her feet stopped outside of Sam's bedroom. The part of her that had been keen on getting Sam's assistance with the matter instantly paused.

From what she had seen last night, Sam himself wasn't feeling too hot. He'd downed so many shots of tequila and beer that she was positive his hangover would be hell on earth. With a nasty cold on top of that, Sam was going to have an awful morning. Charlie bounced on her heels, frustrated with her indecision. Her hands reached for the doorknob and turned it before she could stop them.

Peeking inside, Charlie stopped dead, the door creaking ever so slightly. Sound asleep on top of the bed, Sam and Gabriel were snoring...and spooning. With Sam as the little spoon. One of Gabriel's arms lazily draped over Sam's waist while his right leg wedged between the taller man's knees. Sam had one of his arms bent under his pillow, his fingers in his hair. The other was limp and his hand dangled over the edge of the mattress.

A big grin stretched over Charlie's face- not just because of the adorableness presented in front of her, but also because this was the first time in a long time that she'd seen Sam sleeping so soundly. Quiet as a mouse, she shut the door, making sure that it clicked, before going into the kitchen. Charlie wasn't a gourmet chef, but she knew how to make some killer homemade chicken noodle soup.

Knowing the boys like she did, they would surely appreciate the gesture. Sam, especially. Charlie checked the fridge and pantry for ingredients. Thankfully, they contained exactly what she needed, thanks to Sam and his health shtick. It was only after she'd gotten everything chopped, seasoned, and in the pot did she realize that it was only ten thirty in the morning. Scrunching her nose, Charlie shrugged and set the pot to simmer.

Before she raided the refrigerator for breakfast items, Charlie crossed the floor of the living room and opened the doors to the laundry room; she felt disgusting. Candy powder dusted all over her shirt along with a few stains of alcohol that dotted in a diagonal line down her front. She gingerly tugged the shirt over her head and set it carelessly on top of the rest of the dirty clothes. Something sticky and rough shifted in the left cup of her bra; it turned out that a green Sour Patch Kid had spent the night there.

Although knowing that Dean wouldn't mind her wearing his clothes, Charlie paused to sniff her armpits before putting the clean Styx t-shirt on; he might not have cared if she wore his shirt, but he would if she caused it to smell like B.O. Good thing for her, her pits didn't smell too bad. She pulled the shirt on over her head, her hair frizzing up in the process.

As she scurried back into the kitchen, her mind wandered. That whole thing with Cas and Dean had been so out of character for them. The pair sometimes would bicker and, yeah, they've had a few fallouts that resulted in a dramatic Cold Shoulder. But nothing had ever made Cas run away like that. Or, at least, that's what she assumed had happened. Charlie bit her lip; the expression on Dean's face wasn't normal either.

She had seen that look before but only one other time: the day Lisa had broken up with him. Charlie remembered how Dean seemed to cave in on himself when he thought no one else could see him. Sam had eventually convinced him to attend his monthly therapy sessions, which seemed to helped Dean out of the hole he'd dug himself into. He'd smiled more and even visited Charlie's store from time to time.

But Sam's next session wasn't until the middle of the month and Dean needed his own therapist. “I can't keep mooching off of yours, Sammy,” he'd said. Charlie's chest ached; it didn't take much to see how much pain Dean was in. It was all over his face- hiding it did nothing. A single glance and everyone within a ten mile radius was thinking of crying right along with him. And, right now, her poor friend wasn't doing well. Not at all.

Charlie sighed; from what she could tell, no one was doing well. There had been so much going on lately- between the murders, the storm, and the crap going on with that Nick guy- she just wanted her friends to have at least one good day. Yeah, the morning had already gone to shit it seemed but that didn't mean it couldn't get better. Charlie closed the fridge door and, as she placed the carton of eggs down on the counter, her thoughts progressed.

Her mind brought up apartment number 6. The other apartments had a certain bland feel to them, like stale bread with tiny burnt in numbers. But that one- there was some kind of negativity encompassing it. As if that piece had been burned to a crisp then left out in the sunlight to burn some more. It just didn't have a good aura about it. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up; call her crazy, but she almost felt like someone was glaring her.

The frying pan she was holding clanged against the stove, startling her from her thoughts. Charlie set it down on the burner uneasily, eyes flicking over to the door as she began to whisk the eggs. That apartment...her friends had said that Nick lived there. She'd only been near the guy for not even twenty minutes and she could tell that there wasn't something right with him. If the outside of his apartment was the entrance to Hell, she couldn't bear to imagine what living there was like.

Charlie shook her head; maybe she was going nuts. She did just call an apartment evil. Still, the image of the door was pasted in her memory, leering at her from the hallway. A shudder crept up her spine then trembled all the way back down. Her arms broke out in goosebumps and the fine hairs on her arms stood up on end. Nothing felt safe anymore. Not even her own mind.

But she wasn't the only one who felt that way. Unbeknownst to anyone, Adam, who was currently sitting at his desk in the lobby, was fighting the urge to have a mental breakdown. The last thing he remembered about yesterday was sitting down for tea with...with the guy he'd helped during the storm. All memories blanked out after that. He'd woken up in his bedroom, alarmed and terrified.

For some reason, his mind wanted to blame the man- Nick. That was his name. But Adam couldn't understand why he felt the need to accuse him. Or rather, he couldn't contradict that accusation because he didn't have the memories to prove his mind wrong. It was driving him nuts, not knowing what the hell happened to him during that night. He had heard of being drugged before but nothing that made someone an amnesiac.

There was also the nagging sensation of having been violated. It almost felt like...having a frighteningly vivid nightmare and forgetting about it in the morning. But that fear leftover from it lingers in the back of the mind with sinister intent. Waiting for its moment to strike. Adam trembled, the handheld video game in his hands beeping at him to continue his game. His eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of his skull.

He jumped at every sound and his skin was crawling as though thousands of tiny bugs were scurrying underneath it. Terror had gripped him like a robin with a worm. Pulling and pulling him from his sanity. It was a good thing that no one else would require his assistance that day; Adam lay on the dirty floor under his desk, curled up into the fetal position, crying softly with nothing but the dust bunnies to console him.

**October 5 th. 11:10 am.**

Unaware of the unfolding drama going on around him, Sam stirred. His eyes blinked open groggily and opened his jaw into a yawn. Which instantly turned into a horrible coughing fit. Sam couldn't even lift his head- his body hurt far too much. The hangover and the effects of being out in a thunderstorm without a coat had created one monster of an illness that gripped Sam all the way down to his bones.

Pain throbbed through his temples and head with each raspy breath. It felt like a brick had been repeatedly slammed into his face then attached to his sinuses with super glue. ' _I'm fucking dying_ ,' he thought. Sam immediately winced; even thinking hurt. It was as though his entire soul was on fire: his eyes were heavy and hot, his skin was cool inside but a furnace on the surface, and his blood had become a lava river of death.

He needed to get Dean; his older brother was the only one who knew how to take care of him. But, when Sam tried to move the covers away from his body, his hands made contact with not a blanket but warm flesh. Too disoriented to freak out, Sam's drooping eyelids lifted just enough to allow him to focus in on the arm he was holding. Rough hands, fuzzy hair, muscular, the faint scent of candy...Sam coughed out the name.

“Gabriel?”

“Mnnmh,”

There was a subtle brush of hot breath against Sam's ear as the man cuddling him murmured in his sleep, sending a cascade of shivers down his spine. The limbs entangling him shifted closer, wrapping Sam in an even tighter cocoon of flesh and clothing. While normally he would have flipped his lid over finding Gabriel sleeping with him, right now Sam was just too sick to care. He'd deal with it later.

He shakily tapped on Gabriel's arm in an attempt to wake him. Gabriel not only remained asleep, but he ended up spidermonkeying over Sam. His legs had shimmied up from between Sam's knees to rest over his sides, his arms now draped themselves over Sam's shoulders and lay against his neck, and his face went from being pressed to Sam's back to being buried to his nose in Sam's hair.

Sam was unable to tell if he was blushing- the fever plaguing him consumed every part of his skin- but that was definitely his dry tongue tying around itself and a massive flutter of butterflies in his gut. Not that he minded the new position, but it sparked the question floating around in his hazy brain: What the hell had happened last night?

Before he could begin to try to remember, there was a couple thuds from the bottom of his bedroom door. Confused, Sam cleared his throat and croaked out, “Come in.” There was a clattering noise and Charlie bustled through with her back to him. She awkwardly turned and carried in a plate filled with a mouthwatering display of scrambled eggs, toast with butter and cinnamon, and freshly fried bacon.

She didn't even look at the pair on the bed as she set the plate down on Sam's bedside table. Sam coughed into the back of his hand and tried his best to sit up; he managed a weak lean on his pillow. Gabriel stirred, the smell of bacon wafting into the air. There was a sleepy hum then he popped up from behind Sam. His hair stuck up in about five different directions and a groggy grin lazily lifted his lips.

“I smell food,”

His voice was raspy with misuse. Charlie giggled and jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the kitchen. Her eyes were alight with cheerfulness, as though she was trying very hard to appear happy. Both Sam and Gabriel appreciated it but wondered what had caused her to feel the need to put forth such an effort.

“I made breakfast. Since Sam looks like he's just gone through a battle, I figured we two could eat in the living room and watch TV,”

Gabriel's eyes brightened; he liked the sound of that. But the second he realized that he had to disentangle himself from Sam, all excitement vanished. Sam could feel Gabriel stiffen against him and the sheepish shift of his limbs as they retracted. Charlie thankfully distracted him by placing the back of her hand against Sam's forehead. She winced and brushed the hair sticking to it out of his eyes.

“How are you feeling, Sam?”

“Like death,”

“Jeez, what frog crawled into your throat?”

Gabriel clambered down to the bottom edge of the bed and got up. He avoided looking at Sam at all costs; instead he focused on Charlie. She turned to him as he approached her and smiled. He could feel Sam's eyes on him and gulped. It was only a matter of time before Sam accused him of doing the unthinkable. Gabriel honestly just didn't want to deal with that right now.

“You said you made food, Little Red?”

“Yep. It's in the kitchen. I'll meet you there after I take care of Sam,”

Gabriel nodded then, despite his inner self literally screeching at him, turned to Sam. Sure enough, that feverish hazel gaze was locked on him like a tiger in the shadows. He fought the urge to cringe and sent Sam what he hoped was a boyish grin. Sam raised a single eyebrow in response. Gabriel sighed, shoulders slumping; there was no winning with this man.

He mouthed that they would talk later and hurried from the room. Charlie hummed and helped Sam into a sitting position. Suddenly, the whole world became a spinning top. His stomach lurched and Sam had to use every ounce of restraint to refrain from vomiting. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Charlie heard his gagging and immediately grabbed the petite trashcan from the side of the bed.

Liquid burned up his throat and choked his mouth with its foulness. The thin bag of the trashcan was assaulted with the hot spew as Sam doubled over it. His stomach heaved, pushing more and more horrid fluid up his esophagus. It became too much from him to handle and suddenly his nostrils were on fire. The puke spilled from them, down the dip of his lips, and merged with the yellow tinted splurge.

Sam gasped for air between bouts; he couldn't catch his breath. Between the blockage in his nose and the almost never ending lurch of vomit, his lungs were struggling. Tears ran down his face and soaked into the hem of his black shirt. Charlie was at his side, holding the trashcan with one hand and holding his hair back with the other.

He could barely hear her over the sound of his own retching, but he could make out soothing murmurs. Eventually, he was able to breathe again and his angry stomach calmed. Sam sucked in air and coughed out the remainder of bile from his mouth, spitting it into the trashcan. Charlie felt the back of her throat clench and she had to look away from the contents of the can to refrain from following in Sam's stead.

“I'll take it from here, Charlie. You go and eat,”

Dean's voice was the sun breaking through the clouds. Charlie and Sam both sagged in relief. They both glanced up and saw that he was holding a hand basket of what appeared to be medicine. Charlie patted Sam comfortingly on the back and placed a kiss against his sweaty temple, which was gross, but she loved him so she ignored it. Besides, the grateful affectionate look he sent her made it all worth it.

“Listen, you might be gross right now, but I still think you're awesome, 'kay?”

Sam managed a weak chuckle. Dean ruffled Charlie's hair as she passed and shied away as she playfully smacked at him. She caught his eye briefly and, immediately, her breath caught in her throat. Before he could walk any closer to Sam, Charlie stopped him by tugging him into a tight hug. Her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered in a low enough tone so no one but Dean could hear her.

“I don't know what happened earlier, but remember that I'm here if you need me,”

And she walked away, picking up the puke filled bucket on her way. She took it with her as she closed the door. Dean stared after her, his hands gripping the sides of the basket tightly. Sam sniffled, drawing his older brother's attention back to him. Moving without thinking, Dean went through the motions of taking care of Sam: adjusting the pillows under him to make breathing easier, spooning disgusting tasting medicine into his mouth, dabbing away the beads of sweat with a cool cloth, and applying Vick's to his chest.

Sam groaned pitifully as Dean slathered on the pungent gel. The black t-shirt he'd been wearing lay in a crumpled heap on the bed beside him. Now that his nose was clear, Sam could smell the overwhelming scent of alcohol and Cheetos and sweat. Gross. Not to mention that his bedroom now smelled like a combination of that plus the new addition of vomit. And maybe he was hallucinating, but Sam was positive he could physically smell the sickness coming off of him.

But Dean didn't seem to mind. He wiped the VapoRub from his fingers on the dirty shirt and began to gather Sam's laundry from various areas of his room. When he finally found the laundry basket lodged over by Sam's closet, Dean's own bitchface smoothed out his face. In spite of that, he remained silent as he stuffed the bundle of soiled clothing into it. Sam watched as his older brother stiffly stalked around his bedroom.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

Dean ignored him and plucked a sock from its perch atop Sam's bedside lamp. His shoulders sagged and, although he was tense all over, it almost looked like every movement proved an effort. Sam noticed the way Dean avoided meeting his eyes, a trick he'd picked up when they were younger. It was his way of deflecting any prying questions or comments of concern. Uneasiness beginning to brew in Sam's gut- or maybe that was leftover tequila, he couldn't tell.

“Look at me,”

“No,”

“Dean, I know there's something wrong,”

“Nothing's wrong. Just tired,”

“Bullshit. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Thanks to Sam's sore throat, the anger in his voice was joined by a harsh rasp that seemed to add to the effect. Dean paused, his hand clenched over a pant leg. Sam looked through heavy aching eyes as the other man took in a deep inhale of breath. His whole back swelled with it then deflated as he let it out. For a brief moment, Dean appeared smaller than usual, as though he'd shrunk in on himself.

Like the snap of his fingers, Dean shifted and pulled himself together, wrenching the pants from where they were draped over Sam's desk chair. He shuffled around the desk, throwing away the strewn paper balls into the wastebasket. The room slowly but surely filled with a stifling tenseness. When he spoke, it was in an emotionless deadpan that Sam rarely heard come out of his brother's mouth. It was as though Sam's previous question had been of pure iniquity.

“Mind your own business,”

“Dean-,”

“No, Sam, leave it alone. I'll talk about it when I feel like it, alright?”

“B-but you-,”

“But nothing. End of discussion. Now eat. You gotta have something on your stomach with that medicine,”

“...okay,”

“Call for me if you need me. Got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it,”

“Good,”

He spoke the last part in a growling sort of voice then left the room with the laundry basket. Never once did he look at Sam. Walking out into the living room, Dean briefly glanced at Gabriel sitting at the dining room table, placing the final piece of bacon into his mouth. Charlie looked up at him from her spot on the armchair, the remote in her hands and a fork in the other. He shook his head in response to her silent question.

She sighed and watched with sad eyes as he made his way over to the laundry room. As Dean began to shove the clothes into the washing machine, Gabriel made his way over to where Charlie was sitting and plopped down on the couch. Part of Dean wanted to tell the guy to scram, that he had another apartment to go to and that he shouldn't be sticking around theirs.

Then Dean remembered who was in the other apartment. His hands began to shake- the only indication of his distress. Dean's secret remained hidden for about twenty minutes. Gabriel and Charlie had begun to debunk the cartoon they were watching. From what Dean could hear, it was an episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog. At some point, one of the characters did a funny scream that Gabriel somehow correlated to his brother.

Which, of course, made him question where Castiel was. No one answered- Charlie, because she actually had no idea, and Dean, who's mouth felt wired shut. The elder of the Novak brothers quirked up an eyebrow and muted the show with a quick tap of his finger. He got to his feet calmly and completely disregarded Charlie, who suddenly had the urge to jump in front of Dean.

He obviously knew something that she didn't. Further proving her point, Gabriel went straight over to Dean. Before anyone could even blink, Dean was suddenly spun around with his back flush against the machine and Gabriel's nose inches from his own. Charlie jumped to her feet, but there was no way she was going to get between them; both looked like they were about to kill each other. Gabriel spoke in a deadly lucid voice, his eyes hard and blazing.

“You have some explaining to do, Dean-o. Better start talking,”

Dean bristled. To Charlie, it was like watching two dogs about to get into a horrible fight. Dean even bared his teeth a little as he snapped back.

“I don't know what you're talking about,”

“Oh, I think you do. See, I wake up this morning and my little bro is no longer in the same apartment as I am. And, the last time I saw him, he was cuddled up on the love seat. With you,”

Dean's eyes widened and his jaw clenched furiously. Gabriel leaned in closer menacingly.

“Now, Cassy could have just left on his own accord, sure. I would have been cool with that. But since you're acting like a cat who just ate the canary, I've got reason to believe you had something to do with it. So, before I smash your face in, why don't you tell me why my younger bro isn't here?”

“I've dealt with worse thugs than you. Your threat is nothing I haven't heard before,”

“Then think of it as more of a promise. Time is ticking, Winchester. What'd you do to Castiel?”

Charlie's gaze flicked between them, debating on whether or not she should step in. Then again, she wanted to know what happened, too; that slamming door that'd woken her up hadn't been a coincidence. Dean and Gabriel stared at each other, testosterone sparking between them. Both looked like they wanted to trade blows right then and there. Dean grit his teeth and gripped the edge of the washing machine hard.

“I didn't do anything to him,”

Gabriel was about to protest, but Dean quickly interrupted him. His voice was thick with pain.

“He was the one who wanted to get away. He got up and was outta here before you could fucking blink. Like I burned the guy. So you tell me, asshole. Why was he so desperate to get as far away from me as possible?”

Gabriel's face fell in bemusement. Dean took that as an opportunity to wrench himself free of his grasp. He reared his fist back and clocked Gabriel smack in the jaw. Gabriel stumbled back, holding the spot with one hand. Before he stormed down the hall, Charlie and Gabriel both saw Dean's expression crumple and angry tears prick his eyes. A second major door slam shook the apartment.

Gabriel flexed and rotated his jaw, muttering under his breath. Charlie stared at the blank face of Dean's bedroom door and had her own urge to cry. No wonder he had been acting so weird. Last night had been more eventful than she originally thought. When she'd walked in on Sam and Gabriel, the thought that Cas and Dean had been in the same position never crossed her mind.

“Remind me not to piss that guy off,” Gabriel huffed, “He packs one hell of a punch.” Charlie glanced over at him in a daze. He was rubbing his jaw gingerly and glaring down the hallway. But there was no anger in his eyes anymore- only sadness. Gabriel turned to Charlie and suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she blinked up at him.

“Do me a favor, wouldja, Little Red?”

“Uh, s-sure,”

“Tell Dean-o that if he ever punches me again, he's gonna get an ass whooping fit for an archangel. And that he shouldn't listen to whatever is telling him all that depressive crap. Okay?”

Charlie frowned. Gabriel gave her a few pats then started for the front door. Puzzled, she opened and closed her mouth, much like Dean would. Charlie spun around, about to form her befuddlement into words, when Gabriel looked back at her from over his shoulder. The front door was halfway closed, his body already in the hallway with his right arm stretching out behind him.

“Oh, and let Samsquatch know that there's no need to get his hair in a knot. We didn't do anything. Only the boring sleep he asked for. Thanks, Red,”

And then he was gone. Charlie stood there in the Winchester's living room, wondering what the hell had just happened. She felt around behind her and the back of the love seat pressed against her palm. She sank onto it and breathed out a puff of a sigh. God, was she jazzed to be a lesbian; girls were dramatic, sure, but guys were freaking soap operas with dicks. Rolling her eyes, Charlie hopped off the edge and headed for Dean's room to deliver Gabriel's message.

**October 5 th. 12:23 pm. **

There was a reason everyone hung out in the Winchester's apartment. It had a warm and inviting atmosphere of safety and belonging- one where you felt like family, regardless of blood. It was a place to go if you wanted to escape your problems. Even if it was for a little while. A home away from home. Castiel's apartment wasn't anything like that.

When Gabriel walked into the place for the first time, he could actually taste the artificial ambiance. The air consisted of stale odors of watered down cleaning products and dust. If his brother hadn't assured him that this was indeed Cas' apartment, Gabriel never would have believed him. The space looked like no one had stepped foot in it, let alone lived in it. Even the furniture was untouched. It was like walking through a magazine catalog.

Everything was nice and neatly placed- far too perfectly to pass for living quarters. Castiel liked things clean and tidy, but this was pushing it. Gabriel stood in the Martha Stewart living room, fighting the desire to start messing with things just to disturb the creepy dollhouse impression. He was reaching for the delicately positioned pillows on the couch to throw them across the room when a small item caught his eye.

Because the living room was so prim and properly organized, Gabriel was able to spot the little object from a few feet away. It stood out like a beacon of hope, that maybe his brother did sometimes come through here to exist within its cookie-cutter halls. Gabriel crossed the still shiny hardwood floor over to the bookshelf. Rows and rows of precisely placed books lined the white shelves, waiting desperately for someone to pull one out to read.

Only one out of what seemed to be about a hundred had been chosen. Its spine was white-lined with use and its cover was frayed at the corners. Gabriel pulled it out, sending a cloud of dust fluttering into the air. He flipped it to its front and read the title under his breath. Instantly, Gabriel scoffed and rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head, he was sure he nearly severed them; of course it was the damn Bible.

“Still stuck under Dad's thumb, huh, Castiel?” he mumbled. He opened it to the first page and was surprised to find the entire thing covered in his younger brother's loopy if a bit sloppy handwriting. The blue ink stood out against the book's flimsy white pages like a neon sign. Gabriel bit his lip then looked around to see if Castiel was around to catch him red-handed.

He wasn't. Gabriel knew that he shouldn't read it; hell, he shouldn't have touched the thing in the first place. But Dean's words rang in his ears and spurred him to begin reading. And, man, was he in for a feels trip. From beginning to end, each syllable was nothing but melancholic musings and his guilty conscience. Everything from leaving their family to his life on his own.

The only sections that weren't so sad it made you want to consume an entire carton of ice cream and cry were the ones about the Winchester brothers. But even they were contrastive. The way Castiel spoke about Sam reminded Gabriel of how someone would describe their favorite TV show or book. The joy in the scrawl gave the impression of a person trying to discuss how great their dog was while the creature was right there, wagging its tail the whole time.

Dean's was like reading the greatest love story ever written. Each singular letter looked and felt like it'd been written with care. Gabriel could see Castiel in his mind's eye as he wrote the section, eyes soft and a rare tender smile lighting up his normally stern face. It was like the guy had ripped out his heart, broke it open, and wrote the words with his blood. Seriously, shit was deep. A total 360 shift from Sam's part.

“You've got it bad, bro,” Gabriel murmured. He flipped through the rest of the book then replaced it. As he did so, there was a flash of brown and a clatter of something plastic hitting the floor. Frowning, Gabriel shoved the book into place with the tips of his fingers and glanced down. At his feet lay a rectangular cassette with a white stripe along its bottom.

He reached down and carefully picked up the tape. A slanted inked in inscription sloped across the white line: _Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx._ Gabriel's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened as far as they could go. His jaw fell open then a disbelieving open mouthed smile stretched over his face. A silent gasp inflated his lungs, pausing in suspense. Dean made Castiel a mixtape. A motherfucking mixtape. Oh, this changes everything.

Before he could further freak out over the most romantic thing he'd ever laid eyes on, there was a massive thud. Gabriel pivoted and ran full speed towards the noise, slipping the cassette unconsciously into his pocket. He shoved what he assumed to be a bedroom door and skid to a halt. Laying on the fluffy gray carpet was Castiel...and an open bottle of pills.

“No, no, no, no,”

Gabriel didn't think twice. He stumbled over to where his little brother lay still, his feet sending the blue and pink colored pills skittering across the floor. Gabriel dropped to his knees and quickly pressed two fingers to Cas' neck. The rush of relief nearly knocked Gabriel on his ass; there was a pulse. Desperately, he turned Castiel onto his back and pressed his ear to his chest.

The steady thumping of his heartbeat was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Gabriel straightened up and leaned in close to his brother's face. It was only when he felt the puff of warm breath against his cheek did Gabriel dare to call out his name. He shook Castiel as he did so. The unconscious man's head lolled to the side.

“Cassy? Castiel? Come on, come on. Answer me,”

There was nothing. Even though he knew that Castiel was alive, Gabriel was still in panic mode. He frantically glanced around and snatched up the bottle of pills. His hands were shaking so badly, the words on the label were vibrating like crazy. Still, Gabriel managed to make out the name of the pills: Restoril. The second the words registered in his brain, Cas stirred.

“Hey, you alive? Bro, talk to me,”

“..Gabriel? What? Why are you here?”

“Prick Lips across the hall told me you went AWOL,”

Cas went silent. Gabriel helped him sit up. He looked around, disoriented, then groaned at the sight of the pills scattering the floor. Without looking at his older brother, Cas began to gather them into his hand one by one. Wordlessly, Gabriel helped him. He rolled one of the capsules in his palm, studying it with hooded eyes. He clenched his teeth then closed his fingers.

“So, baby bro, when were you planning on telling me you were taking sleeping pills?”

Castiel visibly winced and reluctantly turned to Gabriel. The skin beneath his eyes was as dark as the shadowed haunted look within the blue of his cornea. He had told Gabriel on the car ride there that he had been having trouble sleeping, but it wasn't until now that the extent of his exhaustion was clear. The guy looked like a zombie. Now it was Gabriel's turn to wince.

“...they help me stay asleep, Gabriel,”

“Jesus, Cassy. Why didn't you call me?”

“I didn't want to bother you. You have been dealing with your own problems. There was no need to pester you with mine,”

“Dumbass, I'm your older bro. If you're going through something, I want you to feel like you can come to me for anything,”

“You know that I won't put that strain on you. You have done enough for me already,”

“It's not-,”

Gabriel cut himself off with a harsh frustrated sigh. There was no point in arguing; he'd learned that a long time ago. Castiel was a master at deflecting Gabriel's attempts to take care of him. Instead, he reached over and pulled his stubborn little brother into a snug hug. Cas was startled at first then returned the embrace just as tightly.

“I thought you were dead, you know. Thought you decided to jump ship without saying goodbye,”

“I- no. I haven't had those thoughts for a long time, brother. You shouldn't worry,”

Gabriel's face scrunched up in confusion. He pulled away, his hands on Castiel's shoulders.

“Wait. Then why were you taking sleeping pills at noon freaking thirty?”

Cas had the gall to look sheepish.

“I...it seems I got up too fast and passed out before I could take them,”

“Okay, that proves you're an idiot. Doesn't answer my question,”

A defeated expression smothered the sheepishness. Gabriel wished he hadn't opened his mouth. Castiel looked away, his mouth turned down at the corners. Gabriel really didn't like that look; it made the lines in Cas' face more prominent and made him look ten years older than he was.

“I wanted to sleep. I thought that maybe if I woke up a second time, I would have another chance to change things,”

“Change what?”

A tortured light gleamed in Castiel's eyes. He pulled away from Gabriel, got to his feet, and settled down on the edge of his bed. As he put his head in his hands, Gabriel followed and sat beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under their combined weight. Cas sighed- a horribly depressed noise- then rubbed at his eyes with the backs of his knuckles.

“I'm sure you are aware of how I feel for Dean by now,”

“Obviously,”

“Well, congratulations. Because now I've ruined everything,”

“Okay, chill with the melodramatics and tell me what happened,”

Castiel explained the events of the morning to his older brother. Castiel left out no details; he even told Gabriel about the sex dream he'd had before waking up to Dean. While now officially scarred for life, Gabriel kept his thoughts to himself. He merely listened. And, as he did, he found himself noticing similarities. Ones that reminded him of himself with the other Winchester brother.

“I don't know what I'm going to do,”

“Well, Cassy, I've got a few words of advice for you, bro to bro,”

“I don't think advice will help me right now,”

“Shut up and listen. First things first, I've gotta tell you that I was there that night and I can tell you with confidence that you didn't rape him,”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you two didn't even make it to the make-session. You conked out on the love-seat before anything could happen. And before you say anything, I covered you guys with a blanket and heard you snoring,”

“So, I didn't- I really- we weren't-,”

“No, you numbskull,”

Castiel let out a shaky gasp of relief. Gabriel squeezed his brother's shoulder reassuringly.

“Secondly, you've gotta wrangle in those thoughts of yours. They're gonna eat you up from the inside out. Believe me, I know. Little asshats have been showing up for me recently,”

“But...but how? They don't go away...,”

“Cause you think you need them. You know what I say about that?”

“What?”

“Fuck 'em. They're like tulpas,”

Cas frowned and tilted his head at the randomness of the example. He opened his mouth, about to protest, then snapped it shut as he realized what Gabriel meant. A small smile worked its way through the frown. Gabriel nodded sagely.

“Exactly. They're as real as you want them to be,”

“Alright. I'll try,”

“Good. Now, about Dean. I can't say I'm an expert in this field. I've got my own love life problems. But I can tell you that you can't let your feelings control you. Do you remember that kid I had a crush on back in the day?”

“The one you were in love with? The one with the cute laugh?”

“Yep. Turns out he's the little bro of the guy you're head over heels for,”

It took Castiel a few seconds for his brain to process what Gabriel was implying. The elder of the brothers watched in fascination as the realization slowly dawned over Cas. When it did, Gabriel lifted a hand and used his finger to close Castiel's dropped open mouth. To his surprise, however, Cas grabbed his hand in his and excitedly leaned into his personal space.

“I knew it!”

“Sure you did,”

“I did! I knew when you were at the window,”

Gabriel shook his head as though a bug had landed on his face. His nose and brows scrunched in disbelief.

“You've gotta be kidding me,”

“No! When Sam and Dean were wrestling in the kitchen, I heard you laugh and I knew that look on your face because I had the same one when I looked at Dean as you did when you looked at Sam,”

“...well, aren't you a good little sleuth,”

Cas nudged him playfully, coaxing a slight grin from his older brother. Gabriel was annoyed he'd been found out, but it saved him the Love StoryTM he'd been preparing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Its screen made a ' _plipping_ ' noise in greeting. As he spoke, Gabriel flipped through his music, searching for one particular song.

“I'm still in the same boat as you, but I've figured out a way to keep from sinking. I listened to this on repeat for weeks. All while eating mountains of candy and crying, but that's not important. It helped me find...closure, I guess,”

Castiel took the cellphone and peered down at the selected song. It was paused exactly at 0:00, waiting for him to press play. Before he did, Gabriel got up and began to walk away. Cas reached out instinctively and managed to grab him by the sleeve of his hoodie. Gabriel looked back at him in amusement.

“Where are you going?”

“I'm gonna snatch that tea you told me you keep in the fridge and have a talk with Sam. Come over when you're ready, 'kay kiddo?”

Gabriel moved to leave then hesitated. He turned to Castiel, who had gone back to frowning down at the cellphone in his hands, and reached into his hoodie pocket. The tape was hard to the touch and warm from being encased in woolly fluffiness. He ran his thumb over its smooth surface before taking it out and placed it into Castiel's free hand.

Cas froze, his eyes transfixed on the tape. Gabriel gently ruffled his brother's hair before quietly murmuring, “You should talk to Dean.” Then he walked away, shutting the door with a click. Cas briefly heard the sound of his refrigerator opening and closing. Then all was silent, save for the final closing of his front door as Gabriel left. He was alone.

Without really thinking about it, Castiel's thumb found its way to the play button and lightly tapped at it. As piano began to fill in the quietude, Cas found himself slowly laying down on his bed in the fetal position. The mixtape pressed comfortingly into his palm as he cradled it to his chest. With the cellphone on the pillow beside him, Castiel stared at the wall as Bonnie Raitt's “ _I Can't Make You Love Me”_ crooned in his ear.

A tiny sob heaved its way past his restraint and that was all it took. Cas curled around the mixtape, allowing its plastic corners to dig into the flesh of his hands. The speakers crackled a bit from being at full volume, but it simply added to the mood. Castiel allowed himself this chance to let it all out. He'd been holding it in for so long...it felt good to finally cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to know, my Tumblr is nugatory-blog. Feel free to come on by~!


	10. No One's At Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a brief yet intense description of a PTSD induced panic attack is included in this chapter. If this could be a possible trigger, please proceed with caution or click off now. I will understand.

**October 5** **th** **. 1:34 pm**.

Lisa stepped out of her car, looking up at the still wet apartment building. She hoped it was the right one. There hadn't been any reason for her to pay a personal visit to the Winchesters' home. Until now, that is. She made sure to compose herself on the way there but a few stray tears of frustration had leaked, ruining her eye makeup. She made a mental note to fix it when she came back; she had worked too damn hard to get it perfect.

Her heels clicked audibly on the concrete as she made her way inside. She still wasn't sure why this trip had been necessary. It's not like she couldn't call and say the warning had been lifted. But she made an effort to reach everyone and that included the Winchesters. Lisa paused with her hand over the shiny brass handle of the double doors. Her fingers were shaking. She sighed through her nose, eyes closing briefly.

Deep down, she already knew the answer to the unspoken question. Not that Lisa would ever admit it- not even to herself. However, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't deny the ball of worry low in her belly. It had been there since the first news of murder in her town, the place she swore to serve with all her power. Lisa bit her lip, smearing the rouge lipstick; despite the urgency, maybe she had overstepped by coming there.

' _Now isn't the time to be second-guessing yourself. Go on and check on him. You know that's why you're really here_ ,' her inner voice told her quietly. Lisa swallowed hard and nodded mutely. She kept telling herself that it was fine to still care for her ex; after all, she and Dean were still friends, right? In any case, it wasn't just him she was scared for. Sam and- Castiel?- were both good men and didn't deserve what horrors she'd been imagining.

Likewise, it'd be nice to just hang out. She despised having to be serious all the time. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to kick back with her feet up and have a drink. Maybe with friends. Months had passed since she and Dean had spent time together. He always proved to be good company. Sure, they had had a phase of awkwardness after the split, but they were fine now. It'd been easy to slip back into a friendship. Well, it was from her end...

“Can I help you?”

Lisa blinked, realizing that she had somehow walked inside the building and was currently standing in front of the reception desk. An ungroomed man with prominent bags under his eyes stared back with a solemn expression. Lisa smiled both professionally and in relief; it was gratifying to see somebody who appeared as frazzled as she felt. The man twitched his lips up into his own grin, one that did not reach his eyes- the customer service falseness.

“Hello. I'm Mayor Braeden. And you are?”

“Adam Milligan. What can I help you with today, Mrs. Mayor?”

“Ah, Ms. Haven't been married for years. It's nice to meet you, Adam. I'm sure you're aware of the previous action taken proceeding the recent murder?”

“You mean the quarantine?”

“Yes. I need you to inform the tenants of this building that it has been revoked. I would do so over a broadcast, but the electricity has failed to return in my office. Would you be so kind to do this for me?”

Adam blinked once, twice. Lisa wondered if she needed to repeat herself. But he nodded briefly and reached down under the desk. The mayor stood there awkwardly as he repeated her message into the intercom. His voice was monotone and sounded completely detached from the world. Internally, Lisa snorted; she could relate. If it hadn't been for the need for professionalism, she would probably be the same way.

Once the announcement had gone through, Adam looked back up at the woman fidgeting in front of him. This was the first time he'd ever met the mayor before. He'd seen her on television, of course, but never in person. For a long while, Adam had even believed she never left the courthouse. Yet here she stood, fiddling with a shiny gold pin attached to her blazer. She looked...ordinary. Although, she held herself confidently and with a certain authority.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked. To his credit, Adam did try to put some emotion into his voice. The mayor seemed as drained as the rest of the town. But he just couldn't fight the numbness that burned within. Mayor Braeden paused as though debating then shook her head. Her long dark hair swept over her shoulders at the motion, drawing Adam's attention. ' _Wow, she's pretty_ ,' he thought, his ears burning.

“Thank you for your time and cooperation, Mr. Milligan. I appreciate it,”

“Yeah,”

The conversation ended there. Lisa hesitated, eyes flicking to the elevator, and bit her lip again. Part of her wanted to go up to the apartment and see for herself if everyone was alright. But then the other part understood how that'd be a bad idea. Not because she couldn't handle seeing Dean again but because she would never want to leave. There was work to be done and...and it just wouldn't be fair. For either of them.

The temptation remained, however; there was a certain atmosphere around the strange trio that made her feel safe and protected. And, god, did she need that right now. Everything had happened so fast recently: the murders, that storm that caused so much damage, and Ben. Lisa's heart clenched. Her poor little boy...he had wanted to help so bad. She couldn't get his expression out of her head when she'd told him that there was nothing he could do.

“Hey, lady, you still with me?”

“W-what?”

“I asked if there was anything else I could do for you and you spaced out,”

“Sorry. I was...,”

Adam watched as she flicked her eyes to the floor then back to the elevators. There was a flicker of desperation and hopelessness that almost crumpled her composed expression. Not to mention the longing twitching her slack limbs. A tiny jolt of empathy poked at his heart. Without thinking, Adam reached out and gently placed a hand on the woman's arm. Lisa jumped a little, her big brown eyes glancing to him.

“I'm worried about someone I love, too,” he mumbled as he stared down at the counter. He had been thinking about his mother, agonizing over her well being. He hadn't gotten the chance to call her or do much of anything beside work. There was also the breakdown he'd had earlier, but he wouldn't dare bring that up to his mom. He refused to worry her more than she already was.

“May I ask who?”

“My mom. She lives near the edge of town. But I haven't gotten the chance to check if she's alright. I'm worried,”

“Oh. You love her a lot, don't you?”

“Yeah. She's all I've got,”

Lisa took Adam's hand and squeezed lightly. Her heart clenched again as he looked up at her with a vulnerable expression; he reminded her of Ben. Before she knew what was happening, she had circled around the desk and gathered the young man in a hug. Adam stiffened and Lisa internally cringed; what had she been thinking? Invading this kid's personal space like this?

Talk about creepy. She was about to pull away, a profuse string of apologies waiting, when arms tentatively wrapped around her back. Lisa both heard and felt Adam shudder as he tucked his chin over her shoulder. Motherly instinct kicked in and she pulled him closer, holding him until the tension faded. His fingers pawed at her blazer in a way that reminded her of Ben when he was a toddler.

“It's alright, Adam. Your mom is fine,”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I don't. Neither do you. But you'd feel it if something had happened, wouldn't you?”

She spoke softly as she would to a child. Adam gulped and nodded. His hair brushed against Lisa's cheek and a sense of nostalgic longing washed over her. She missed being a mom. Being a mayor had taken up nearly all of her focus. She hardly ever got to bond with Ben anymore nor could she hug him like this. So, Lisa allowed herself to comfort this stranger and let him cry on her shoulder. She needed it about as much as he did.

They had begun to rock gently from side to side at some point. Adam couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a hug from anyone. He stared at the floor, his mouth pressed against the smooth fabric of the Mayor's jacket. She smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Not like how his mom smelled- like home and burnt cookies- but somehow this woman gave off the same vibe.

Briefly, Adam didn't want to pull away. He had been alone for so long. For the first time in a long time, he finally felt safe. All the same, this wasn't his real mother and that recognition iced over Adam's heart. He jerked back a bit, indicating he wanted to be let go. Mayor Braeden got the hint immediately and released him. She even took a few short steps back, which Adam regarded with conflicted emotion.

“Sorry. I don't know why I felt the need to do that,”

“It's okay. Um, thanks, I guess,”

Lisa smiled at him then awkwardly adjusted her suit. They were both noticeably discomfited by the situation. Adam cleared his throat and glanced over at the stack of papers on the desk. He really needed to take care of them. Not that he cared; it would just be an excellent distraction from...whatever this was.

“I, uh, I have some things to do. Papers and such. So...,”

“Right. Right, yes, so do I. Um, thank you again. Bye,”

He heard the Mayor's flustered farewell and spared a halfhearted wave without looking up. It was only as she clicked away did Adam find himself watching her go. The hug had been weird, definitely. But he had certainly needed it. When Lisa stumbled into her car, he smiled in gratitude.

Regardless of the Mayor's initial attitude, she wasn't half bad. Well, for a mom, at least. Adam chuckled to himself at his joke and sat down in his swivel chair. Now that he was paying attention, the pile of papers seemed smaller than they had a second ago. Maybe he had time. Hesitating, Adam let his eyes wander to the tiny black device sitting mere inches away. After a minor inner debate, he picked up the cellphone and dialed with quick fingers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

**October 5 th. 3:00 pm. **

With a jolt, Castiel blinked open sticky eyes and peered blearily around the room. He was unsure of where he was at first; he rarely ever stayed in his own apartment. Cas moved to get up when he heard a tiny clink: the mixtape. His head throbbed in remembrance of the fit of crying from earlier that day. He shifted onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

It hadn't happened. Dean was safe. Cas winced; he had reacted so intensely and without explanation. All for nothing. Dean deserved to know why things had panned out the way they did. He hoped his friend was still willing to speak with him. Castiel shoved himself off of his bed, unable to bear the disgusting sheen of sweat drying on his skin. As he stripped off his rumpled clothing, his thoughts drifted to the dream that had woken him.

“No, don't think about it,” he growled to himself. That was impossible, of course. It had been far too vivid and the memory of trauma shook Castiel to his core. His brain seemed to have focused on that night far more than he'd like to admit. Cas hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As steam filled the room, the images flashing in his head became more frequent: blood, the hot poker, the staining red on his blurry hands, and the...the body.

' _Remember me_ ,' they seemed to taunt, ' _Remember what happened. What you did_.' Panicking, Castiel jumped into the shower and cried out as the heat burned his unsuspecting skin. With trembling hands, Cas yanked the handle away from its current setting. The water cooled almost instantly and sent his body into a brief frenzy. A choked groan punched out of his tight throat and his legs wobbled unsteadily.

Cas stumbled into the wall of the shower, sliding a little, and leaned against it heavily. One hand gripped the soap shelf while the other was curled into a fist underneath. The water was now icy cold and sent Castiel into a fit of shivers. He made no move to touch the handle again. He couldn't; the induced mania wouldn't allow it. Whispered sobs, drowned out by the pounding spray, murmured from his lips like desperate prayers.

“I didn't mean to. It was an accident. Please.” He received no answer. His throat ached to urgently call out to his friends to help- to take away the horror. But no one would come. He knew this; he was all the way in the back of his apartment. They were across the hall, separated by walls and a dense metal door. There was no way they'd hear him. Castiel was alone. He'd have to deal with this himself.

The dream relentlessly replayed in his head and each passing imagery rendered him weak. The memoirs of that night plagued him without mercy. Before he could stop it, his focus deterred and the scene began to play out. Cas frantically looked around his old bedroom, terror chilling him to the bone. He was on the dark wood floor, knees aching from kneeling on its surface.

His brother himself stood over Cas, who slumped into an awkward begging position. The eyes that had haunted him for years blazed down at him, set in a fierce and stone cold expression. Michael towered over him with the fire poker clenched tightly in gloved hands. Raphael was nearby with his own hands clasped calmly behind him. He stared at Castiel coldly.

“Castiel, do you understand your sins and are you willing to repent for them?” Michael asked. No! Cas did not understand what he had done that was so wrong. He glanced fearfully between his older brothers. He tried to speak, but his trepidation towards the situation had tightened his throat. Raphael made a noise of disgust and leaned forward just enough to catch Castiel's attention.

“Michael asked you a question. I would advise that you answer him,” he warned. But Castiel shook his head, trying to convey that he did not know how to answer such a question. His older brothers shared a silent exchange, one that Raphael seemed to take great pleasure in. He spun around, face twisted in a gleeful hunger, much like a lion about to attack.

Before Cas could react, he pounced. His fingers were like knives as they ripped at the shirt his youngest brother was wearing. Castiel screamed in fright and in alarm, his jaw having been slammed into the floor and his arms yanked back then pinned to his lower spine. Michael watched the struggle indifferently, tapping the poker against his palm.

Once the shirt had successfully been ripped away, Raphael used his body weight to keep Castiel immobilized against the icy floor. They both ignored the pained whimpers of the clearly horror-struck child they had once called brother. Michael calmly and coolly pulled back the fire gate of the fireplace. The crackling flames mixed with the now tearful sobs of Castiel.

He remembered how the flickering orange and red hues stretched over Michael's face, illuminating the hard glint in his eyes. The heat of the flames brushed against Castiel's cheek, burning him only slightly. Raphael leaned forward to watch in fascination as Michael held the poker's tip in the fire. Cas looked up to find his brother's dark face alight with cruelty and excitement; he was...he was enjoying this.

“S-st-sto-op. P-please,” Cas stuttered around his sobs. This earned him a rough shove back onto the floor, his skull making a terrible thud against it. Agony seared through his head and limbs as Raphael intensified his hold on him. “Hold still,” his brother growled. Cas now understood why both his brothers were wearing such thick gloves; they were going to brand him. Sear the skin of his back like he was some sort of animal.

Cas involuntarily went slack, the shock as intense as a plunge into icy waters. Michael removed the poker after about 20 minutes, its black tip now glowing with heat. He turned to Raphael then stopped. He glanced down at the red poker and hesitated for a moment. There was split second where Cas could see a hinted sliver of regret chip away at his cold expression.

“M-Michael, please! I don't kn-know what I've d-done!” Cas cried out desperately. This gave both of his older brothers pause. They seemed equally surprised and just as disgusted as the other. Michael squatted in front of Castiel and peered down at him. He ignored the stream of tears, snot, and saliva dribbling down chubby cheeks. Raphael loosened his hold on Castiel's neck just enough to allow the boy to meet Michael's gaze.

“You have been charged with disobeying Father's law. Do you deny this?”

“I-I don't und-understa-stand. How did I d-d-disobey him?”

“You have not comported yourself as a child of our Father. You've chosen to live a life opposing him,”

“What? I ha-have done nothing agains-st him!”

“It was overheard that you call yourself a demisexual. That you would willingly lay with another man if you have bonded with him. Is this true?”

Castiel froze, his entire body turning to ice despite the fire. No one had known about that. They weren't supposed to. The only creatures Castiel had ever even mentioned his sexuality to had been the animals of the nearby forest. He would never have guessed that one of his siblings had heard him. It was against Father's law. Cas had broken the rules. And this was going to be his punishment.

His sobs quieted then stopped altogether. Michael and Raphael shared a knowing glance as Castiel averted his eyes to stare at the floor. The hold on his wrists also loosened as his body went limp with submission. Michael stood up and went to give the poker to Raphael, who seemed disappointed in Castiel's lack of struggle. Michael paused, also irritated by, in his standards, the inadequate reaction to punishment.

“Castiel, do you repent for the sins?”

“....,”

“Answer me, Castiel. Do you repent for your sins?”

Michael spoke haltingly in a dangerous tone.

“...yes,”

“Yes...what?”

“I repent for whatever sins I have committed,”

Michael's nose flared at the deliberate avoidance of the answer he was looking for. Raphael tightened his hold again, his teeth clenched in anger. Castiel still did not move. The only sign that he felt the violence was a tiny grunt he made in the back of his throat. Michael curled his fingers tighter around the hot poker. A choked gasp burst from Castiel's throat as Raphael's fingers dug into it.

Michael was physically shaking with fury and went as far to kick Castiel on the side of his head. A hiss of pain then nothing. Raphael actually flinched at the assault, looking up at his eldest brother in surprise. Michael paid him no mind. Instead, he took the cooling poker and stuck it back into the fireplace. A twisted sneer contorted the lines of his mouth as he knelt on one knee in front of Cas.

“I hear your repentance. And I deny it,”

Castiel whipped his head up at that, Raphael having loosened his hold in his stupor. Cas' eyes met Michael's directly. Without looking away from the now petrified gaze of his youngest brother, Michael swayed the poker around. Its curled tip glowed threateningly as he carefully brought it around to pose inches from Castiel's nose. He watched as the boy gulped.

“Brother, we agreed that, if he confessed, his punishment would-,”

“Silence, Raphael. Or need I remind you who Father put in charge of this exile?”

“Exile? Oh, Michael, you can't! Please!”

“Your pleas fall on deaf ears, Castiel,”

Michael held out the poker for Raphael to take. When the other brother wavered, piercing eyes flicked up to his and glared menacingly. Castiel had begun to sob again, his chest heaving with them. Raphael gazed down at him in pity then cautiously held the poker up high, poised as though to strike. Michael seemed to assess the situation in a new light for the frosty gleam in his eyes had been replaced with reluctance.

“You have broken the...the rules. Therefore, you shall no longer be welcome in our household. Your belongings will be destroyed and burned in the pit. But before this, you shall be branded with a mark so that everyone will know of your disobedience,”

Castiel thrashed violently in Raphael's hold and would have thrown the older man off if Michael hadn't stepped in to help. His cries loudly echoed throughout the house, reaching the ears of all his brothers and sisters. No one came to his rescue. They had agreed to this torment. Each and every one of his siblings carried out this torturous retribution without an ounce of remorse. Raphael held the poker up high again once Castiel was successfully restrained.

Suddenly, there was a crash as the bedroom door was kicked open then a sharp pain in Cas' head. He could hardly hear the shouting or the fleshy thumps as blows were exchanged over the intense ringing in his ears. He remembered seeing something long and black a few inches from his face and grabbed it with shaky hands. He pushed himself to his feet, lifting the heavy iron high above his head.

He brought it down as hard as he could. Then everything went dark. Until he opened his eyes again to find Michael staring at him from his place by the door, Gabriel beside him. They both looked like they'd seen a ghost. Cas hadn't understood why until he saw the blood. It was everywhere: splattered on the walls, his bed, pooling in a puddle on the floor, and sticking to the bare skin of his chest and stomach. Cas pushed himself up with a sucking slorping noise. He blinked once then-

Castiel flung himself forward, yanking the shower handle into the off setting. Shivering violently, he heaved his body over the side of the tub and hit the tile with a wet slap. He lay on his back, eyes half closing. His chest felt like it was on fire, his heart wildly pounding at high speed, and his lungs tried their hardest to inflate. Cas gagged and clawed at the strangled sensation in his throat.

He wasn't sure if it was because of the cold water or not, but every atom of his body seemed to be shaking all over. Cas tried to turn onto his side in an attempt to get off the bathroom floor. A violent stab of pain rocketed through his stomach, causing him to curl into himself with a gasp. ' _Panic....panic attack_ ,' he managed to think.

Castiel closed his eyes to try and calm himself- only to see the bloodied corpse of Raphael. A horrified groan worked its way slowly from his mouth. “I didn't mean it. Accident, accident,” he choked out. Raphael stared back at him with wide eyes, pupils blown to complete blackness. Heat flashed through Castiel weakly as his body attempted to warm itself.

“Someone...someone help me,” Cas whispered. Fear gripped him tightly and refused to let go. The idea of dying there, lying naked on his bathroom floor, quickened his already struggling breaths into tiny pants. Wide eyed and panicking, Castiel scrambled to get up. He managed to haul himself onto his hands and knees. Strength faded quickly from his trembling limbs and Cas was forced to crawl from the bathroom to his bedroom.

Castiel had just barely made it to the side of his bed before his consciousness left him.

**October 5** **th** **. 4:26 pm.**

Sam didn't know exactly when he'd fallen asleep, but the sun was just beginning to rise when his heavy eyelids eased open. He hadn't dreamed; he'd closed his eyes for a second then opened them hours later. Judging from the clock on the nightstand, several hours had passed. Sam shifted on his bed, groaning softly at the reminiscent ache of illness that burned faintly through his body.

His sinuses had cleared up at least and his throat didn't seem to hurt as bad as it did before. He could finally breathe through his nose, too, which was a relief like no other. Noses were never appreciated more than when they cleared themselves. Itchy soreness remained attached to his eyeballs, but a few rubs from his knuckles helped soothe that.

Sam stretched out on his bed, moaning as his muscles pulled and released their built up tension. His hand reached out blindly for the other side of his bed and patted unthinkingly for extra warmth. Sam grazed the top of his lower lip with his teeth; oh, right...Gabriel wasn't there. Which made sense since he'd only slept with Sam last night.

They still had yet to talk about that. A slight frown turned down the corners of his lips, his brows furrowing as his eyes blinked slowly up at the popcorn ceiling. He couldn't recall much of what had transpired on that drunken night. Hazy memories flitted to him like teasing fireflies dancing through the darkness of his mind. They were there for one moment then blinked from view before Sam could focus on them. But Sam knew that something must have happened between him and Gabriel for the guy to consider getting into bed with him.

Sam tapped his fingers absently against his chest, their soft thumping easing into an irregular rhythm. What was wrong with him? One minute he's telling Gabriel that he wants to be nothing more than friends then the next he's trying to get into his pants. Sure, he could have easily blamed it on the alcohol and the heady fog of sickness. But the tense cramp in his gut and the hard pounding of his heart said otherwise.

Sam didn't know what to call his range of emotions. He couldn't just slap a label on them and call it a day. Besides, even if he could figure it all out, how would he handle the outcome? Sam liked Gabriel. He really liked him. When his thoughts turned to Gabriel, it wasn't anything he'd ever experienced before- as though his soul and emotions decided to waltz without him. The bursts of feeling were growing stronger and stronger with each moment Sam spent with his new friend.

They had even begun to affect his relationship with the man. While the details were vague and fuzzy, Sam definitely knew he had somehow managed to gather enough lustful courage to make a move. But Gabriel- a bubble of mournful affection formed, swelled, then burst into a ripple through Sam's chest- had refused and even made an effort to remind Sam of his own rejection towards the idea of them getting together.

Sam almost wanted to cry. Even after he had crushed the poor guy's heart and had the gall to attempt at what must have been cruel seduction, Gabriel still decided to stay the night with him. Sam lifted his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes with a teary inhale. God, he didn't deserve such loyalty or friendship. Especially after what he'd made Gabriel go through just to reach this point in their relationship.

He rolled over on to his side, trying to scramble his consciousness to focus on a new topic, when he noticed a deep red thermos and mason jar sitting on his desk. Raising an eyebrow, Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as the action sent a sharp stripe of pain down the middle of his head. He shuffled over to the desk and saw that there were two pieces of paper: a folded note and a yellow Post-It note.

Sam picked up and unfolded the note by the thermos and recognized Charlie's handwriting immediately:

_Sam,_

_We didn't know when you were going to wake up, so I left some of the soup I made for you this morning. I hope it's still hot. I made sure it had extra veggies, the way you like it. In case you're wondering why I left a note instead of just telling you like a sane person, Dean and I went to check out the stores to make sure the storm didn't damage them too much. Since Mayor Braeden called off the quarantine, we're finally allowed. Dean says try not to walk around too much and rest your pretty head. We'll be back as soon as we can._

_Love,  
Charlie and Dean_

Sam coughed a few times into the crook of his arm then smiled down at the note. Charlie always had a way to make him feel better. She and Dean were the best caretakers he could ask for. As he gently folded the note again, he wondered when Lisa had suspended the quarantine. It had only been a day. The realization furrowed his brows and his mouth quirked to the side; well, that made absolutely no sense.

The Mayor was usually so careful with the citizens' safety. To retract a perfectly sane decision to keep everyone in one place after only 24 hours? Sam shook his head, ignoring the bloom of pain through his temples. There must have been a reason behind it. He'd call her once he felt up to it. Sam cleared his throat as he set the note down on his desk. He screwed the cap off the thermos and inhaled the smell of soup.

Charlie might not be a gourmet cook, but soup was her strong suit. His mouth watered as he lifted the edge of the thermos to his mouth. The soup was, thankfully, still warm but not enough to burn him. Sam drank a huge mouthful and chewed the solid bits with a satisfied expression. It was delicious, of course. The broth soothed its way down the damaged flesh of his throat and Sam breathed a sigh through his nose.

The Post-It note fluttered as the thermos was set back down with a dull thump. Sam swallowed and gently ripped the yellow square from the mason jar. Before he read the messy scrawl of letters, Sam peered at the liquid within the glass. From what he could tell, it looked like watery red Kool-Aid. His nose scrunched in distaste as he tore his gaze back to the note.

_Just drink it, Samsquatch. It tastes better than it looks and gets rid of the nastiness clogging you up. Feel better!_

_-Gabriel._

_P.S. We can talk later._

The postscript stood out like a flashing strobe light. Gabriel wanted to talk. Part of Sam sagged with relief while the other half immediately flared up nervously. Did Gabriel feel the same way about last night as he did? Sam stopped, flinching a bit. Had he himself actually figured out how he truly felt about it? Sam absently picked up the thermos in one hand and the mason jar in the other.

As he replayed his foggy memory of the previous night, he shuffled out of his bedroom and went out into the living room. The apartment seemed hollow without anyone else there. There was a faint scent of soup in the air but nothing else. It all seemed stale and gray. Sam looked down at the thermos and jar of tea, his stomach suddenly churning.

Ugh. Maybe he wasn't as famished as he thought. The idea of vomiting warm soup did not settle well with him. He could eat it later. Perhaps when Dean and Charlie got home. He could thank her properly then. She would understand his desire- or lack of- to not eat the soup right away. Grimacing, Sam crossed the floor into the kitchen.

_Wasteful._

Sam paused in annoyance. His eyes actually strained from being rolled back so hard. It was back. The damn voice just wouldn't shut up this week. Normally, if things weren't too stressful, Sam could go throughout his day like any other person. He could even- wait for it- laugh and smile with his friends and Dean. Yeah, a true shock to the world, that one.

But, with everything that had been going on, the voice taunted him at every given moment. Sam just wanted it to shut the hell up. Nevertheless, his body responded with a guilty shuffle and fidgeting fingers around the base of the mason jar. He peered down at his feet, inspecting a couple holes in his socks. His voice was a murmur in the nearly silent space.

“I'm going to eat it later.”

_Ungrateful, worthless moocher._

He knew he wasn't supposed to interact with the voice. His therapist had strongly advised against it. But Sam had to wait to take his next dosage of medicine and was too tired to fight anymore. He set the containers down on the island counter. Suddenly, his fingers were unscrewing the caps and he was chugging the soup. The solid pieces of chicken, carrot, and celery nearly choked him as they hit the back of his throat.

_You're gonna disappoint them. Unsurprisingly._

Sam wanted to scream for it to stop. His stomach lurched with the abrupt assault of sustenance; it hadn't entirely recovered along with the rest of him. Instinctively, Sam slowed down and chewed the rising amount of food in his mouth. His cheeks bulged with the soup and some of the broth had begun to dribble from his lips down his chin. He didn't stop until the entire thermos was emptied.

Groaning, Sam slumped over the counter, his stomach aching with fullness. He knew he was gonna throw it all back up soon. The thought only seemed to urge on the nausea, flipping and turning his angry belly. The smooth wood of the counter was cool against Sam's cheek as he turned his head to the side. He stared at the mason jar, which now had developed a menacing aura. ' _Drink me,_ ' it seemed to taunt.

His hand moved on its own and wrapped his fingers around the cold glass. The liquid sloshed inside as Sam dragged the jar closer to him. He lifted his head enough to take a tiny sip. His tongue seemed to recoil from the intense flavoring of the tea, but Sam was relentless. Without thinking, he tipped the jar towards him to gain better access to the tea within. It all happened in a matter of seconds.

The world blurred passed his eyes, a terrible vibration thrumming in his ears. His stomach dropped and his body reverberated with the thud as his struck the tile with his body. He blinked and found himself staring up at the light fixture overhead, covered in sticky liquid and sharp glass. His legs sprawled in opposite directions: one was wedged under the island and the other was bent at the knee with his foot caught on the top of the cabinet.

Pain rocketed through his head and left arm. A brief glance told him that one of the glass shards had cut him from his elbow to the middle of his forearm. It didn't appear to be too deep, but blood pooled down his skin regardless. Sam glanced around him with blurry eyes, not completely comprehending what had happened. He vaguely heard the front door burst open.

“Sam!”

Strong hands were suddenly helping him into a sitting position. He heard a gasp and soft murmuring to his right. The words were lost to Sam; his ears were ringing and seemed to be clogged- like how they'd be on an airplane. Plus, there was a hollow sounding hum buzzing in his brain. It wasn't until the hands took his face between them did Sam focus. His lips trembled and his tongue slurred his words.

“Gabriel? Wh...what are you doing here?”

“I was downstairs cleaning my motorcycle and came back up to get my keys. I heard you scream. What the hell happened?”

“Oh. I wanted to drink the tea you made me. But-,”

Sam glanced around him again, blinking at the puddle of sweet smelling tea they were sitting in. He'd ended up wasting it after all. The voice was right; he did ruin everything. Tears snaked down his sticky cheeks and dripped down into the mixture. Gabriel softly shushed him as Sam began to sob and apologize profusely. “It's okay, it's okay,” he murmured.

He shook with nerves and tried his best to comfort the poor man. This was the first time Gabriel had ever seen one of Sam's attacks. Sure, the stories from Castiel were bad but to actually be exposed to one was an experience all on its own. He was just about to help Sam up when the metallic scent of blood hit him. Gabriel quickly raked his panicked gaze over Sam and found the oozing cut along his arm.

“Shit!” he hissed. The amount of blood that stained Sam's clothing was spreading far too quickly to be safe. Gabriel scrambled up, slipping on the tea. His cheek caught on the corner of the island, sending sharp, itchy pain through his face. He ignored this and dropped to his knees to search frantically under the sink for the first aid kit.

“Gabriel, I don't feel good,”

“I know, Sam. I'm coming. Just hold on,”

Gabriel crawled over to the now hunched over Sam, despite getting the mess on his jeans. He was just opening the kit when a coughing fit struck Sam. Unfortunately, because he was cradling his arm to his chest, the sudden motions jostled it and the wound stretched in length. Gabriel watched the splatters of blood hit his clothes and reached around to grab the dish towel hanging off of the oven handle. Sam groaned in pain and cried harder.

“I'm sorry,”

“No need for apologies, Samsie,”

“I ruined everything,”

Gabe softly reassured his poor friend as he wiped away the blood and tea from Sam's arm. His fingers trembled as he threaded a needle with floss with a frustrated frown. God, he wished he had a car. It would be so much easier to take Sam to the damn hospital. But there was no way for them to get there. Gabriel flinched as Sam hissed in pain as the needle went through his skin.

“I know it hurts. It'll be better soon,”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I-I have to fix your arm. You're going to bleed out if I don't,”

“Let me! Let me die!”

Sam's voice rose into a shout and he tried to wrench his arm away.

“No fucking way! You will not die on my watch! Not if I have any say in it,”

Gabriel tightened his grip on Sam's wrist and continued to stitch up the gaping mouth of the wound. He winced with every stitch, hoping he could find some whiskey or something to help ease the pain later on. Gabe wished Dean or Castiel was there. They'd know how to handle this better. Especially Dean. He'd know how to calm Sam down. Damn it, where was he?

**October 5 th. 5:37 pm**

There was a terrible screeching noise as Dean chucked the last tree branch into the dumpster. Charlie sighed and wiped her hands on the front of her jeans, leaving smudgey dirt prints there. It had taken them a couple hours, but they'd done it. The storm had managed to cover every last inch of the Winchesters' store with wet leaves, mud, broken asphalt, and at least fifty tree branches.

Thankfully, the store itself was in good shape. There had been a few scratches on the glass window and the front's foldable sign had flown off in the wind somewhere. But other than that, everything was fine. Dean gushed out a sigh and swiped his hands together in a triumphant way. He walked towards Charlie, eyes shining.

“Well, that's all of it. Wanna go inside and check it out?”

“Might as well. It's too cold to stay out here anymore,”

Dean nodded enthusiastically. It must have been at least 20 degrees outside. Shivering, the pair hurried through the alley and quickly unlocked the antique store. While she was waiting for Dean to fit the key, Charlie glanced around at the town, surveying the rest of the damage. Her eyes were drawn to the center oak tree. Despite it all, the tree still stood as proudly as it had before, save for a few bare patches in its leaves.

She studied it for a second, wondering why there was an odd feeling surrounding it. She couldn't place exactly what it was- just that it spooked her. Dean got the door open with a happy cry and they went inside. Dean shuffled around in the dark, searching for the light switch. When he found it and the store was brightly illuminated, they both gasped.

Water had flooded the floor and had seeped into the hardwood. Just stepping on it elicited a squishy groan that made Charlie gag. Dean groaned and carefully walked around the store, checking each and every antique with care. Charlie made her way to the register to check on the money. To her surprise, the bills and coins were unharmed. They were a bit soggy though. Dean made a happy yet confused hum and turned to Charlie with a shrug.

“They're fine. Some are wet but a couple minutes of dabbing them with paper towels oughta do the trick,”

“Cash is fine, too. Little soggy but still functional,”

“Awesome,”

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. Charlie closed the register and together they tiptoed cautiously back to the front entrance. Once there, Dean glared down at the squeaking floorboards. “Man, I just had these things waxed, too!” he whined. Charlie consoled him with a pat on the shoulder. She was just happy that the store hadn't suffered too much damage.

Her own, however, was a different story. Charlie fell to her knees onto the soggy carpet, her hands grabbing fistfuls of hair. Dean winced at the piles of ruined game cases, broken shelves, and the still sparking televisions. But most of all, he stared at the scattered pieces of glass from where the huge window had shattered.

“Oh, Charlie, I'm sorry,”

“My poor games. My poor store,”

“I know,”

“I fucking hate nature,”

Dean had to stifle a laugh; now was not the time. Charlie angrily got to her feet and stormed out of the store, her hair whipping behind her. Dean followed after a moment, secretly wishing he could fix it somehow. But he knew that there was nothing he could do. Charlie had to hire professionals to fix things, just as he did. He wasn't some supernatural being that could snap his fingers and everything would right itself.

He found Charlie standing by the curb, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was glaring down at a piece of the neon sign that had been torn off. Dean went to her and silently put a hand on her shoulder. She turned into him and hugged him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her securely and kissed the top of her head. This just wasn't fair.

“I wish I could do that spell Dumbledore did in Slughorn's house,”

“When he fixed everything?”

“Yeah. Then I wouldn't have to use my rent money to fix my goddamn store,”

“You can't do that, Charlie,”

“I have no choice, dude. You saw that hole. It looks like some warlock shot a fireball through the ceiling,”

The wind gently tossed her hair, as though it could sense that something was wrong. Dean gently began to rock them from side to side like his mom used to do. He felt the poor girl shudder and closed his eyes. He pulled her closer and began stroking her hair. She shook her head and gripped at his back almost desperately. Dean's heart ached at the tiny whimper she made.

“Don't cry, honey,”

“What am I going to do, Dean? If I don't pay my rent again, I'm gonna get kicked out,”

Charlie's voice broke and she softly began to sob into Dean's jacket. Dean shushed her and silently cursed the weather. They stayed that way for a while, just rocking. Charlie eventually stopped crying and composed herself enough to pull away. Dean moved his hands to her shoulders and studied her to make sure she was better.

“You okay?”

“No,”

“I know. But it will be,”

“How? I can't afford to fix this, Dean,”

“You can. Use your rent money and pay it off,”

Charlie looked at him like he had just offered her a stick of dynamite.

“I told you that I'll get kicked out if I do that,”

“I heard you. If that happens, you can come stay with Sammy and me,”

“What?”

“Yeah. And if that doesn't work, I'm sure Cas will let you stay with him,”

“I can't just throw that on him. What if he says no?”

Now it was Dean's turn to look at her like she was crazy.

“Charls. This is Cas we're talking about here. You really think he'd turn you away?”

“Well, no,”

“Then ask him. When we get home. Knowing him, he'll take you in in a heartbeat,”

Charlie grinned through her tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Dean smiled back at her and jerked his head towards the Impala.

“Come on. No sense in staring at a dead horse,”

“That is totally not the expression,”

“It is. I made it up,”

“I love you,”

“I know,”

Charlie giggled and got into the car with Dean. As he settled into the driver's side, Charlie found that she felt much better. Not completely since her whole pride and joy was destroyed but better than she thought she would end up feeling. As the Impala roared to life and they began to drive, Charlie wondered how lucky she was to have the Winchesters and Castiel as her family.

And Gabriel, too! She had forgotten about him. At the thought of her new friend, the image of him and Sam spooning came to mind. Smiling to herself, Charlie imagined what it would be like if those two got together. While Dean had Castiel, Sam didn't seem to have anyone. Not since Jessica. She wondered if he had gotten over her death. Her face scrunched up in distaste; if he wasn't, Charlie definitely didn't want to pair him with Gabriel. Too soon.

But they were so cute together. Dean glanced over and lightly smacked her on the shoulder with the back of his hand, snapping her out of her daydream.

“Okay, spill. You've been on a face journey since we got in the car,”

Charlie blushed at being caught then shoved Dean for calling her out. She settled into the seat and focused on the passing buildings. But the gears in her mind were turning and an idea slowly formulated. Perhaps having Dean on her side could get the ball rolling with those two. After all, Sam listened to almost everything Dean had to say. If anyone could get Sam to consider Gabriel, it was his brother.

“Oh, just thinking about how it'd be nice if, I dunno, Sam and Gabriel got together?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on! Don't tell me you haven't seen it,”

“Seen what? Those two hate each other,”

“Dean, Dean, Dean. Clearly you haven't seen how they've been acting lately. Trust me. They're into each other,”

“How do you know?”

Charlie's ears perked at the interested note in Dean's voice. Could this also be an opportunity to convince him about getting with Cas? Humming to herself, she shifted in her seat and fixed Dean with a pointed stare. Finally, she had her chance to get things going. Sam was going to be so proud of her. _Be smooth, Charlie._ She decided to play the indifferent card and shrugged as though it were obvious.

“Well, Gabriel hasn't been exactly subtle in that he has a thing for Sam. I mean, the way he looks at him is like the physical embodiment of that song by the Carpenters,”

“By who?”

“You know. Why do stars fall out from the sky? Every time you walk by? Just like me, they long to be close to you,”

Charlie finished singing the verse, leaning in close to Dean and batting her eyelashes for effect. Dean gave her a somewhat grumpy glance then fidgeted in his seat. Charlie grinned like a cat and internally gave herself a high-five. Jackpot! As she moved back into her seat, she decided to test the waters a little. She even added a dreamy sigh for good measure.

“Sam's not any better. I mean, yeah, he didn't like the guy at first. But now, oh man, does he have it bad,”

“Okay, now you've lost me. Sam can't stand him,”

“On the contrary, he's beginning to like him,”

“Beginning to?”

“Yeah. He's slowly starting to realize that Gabriel isn't half bad and that maybe things could go differently,”

“I don't see it,”

“Well, of course you wouldn't. Sam himself hasn't even seen it. I think it's because he thinks that they should be friends first. Which is great. But when you have feelings like that...friendship usually turns into a relationship,”

“Not always,”

Bullseye. Charlie hated the sad tone in Dean's voice, but hey, getting the guy to realize his feelings wasn't going to be pretty. She pretended to scoff which caught Dean's attention. As he frowned at her in confusion, she had to fight to keep her expression neutral. It took all her willpower not to grin.

“Why not? If you have strong feelings for your friend and they in turn feel the same, then why shouldn't you be in a relationship? It's basically just a level up anyway,”

“What are you talking about?”

“You do the same things you do in a relationship that you do in a friendship, right? Just with a few added bonuses. Like kissing and sex and late night cuddling sessions. The good stuff,”

“Yeah, Charlie. It all sounds wonderful. But how would Sam know if Gabriel felt the same?”

Charlie finally let herself smile. Halfway home and he finally managed to catch on. She loved Dean but sometimes he could be dense. It was a good thing she and Sam were there to help nudge him in the right direction. Dean scowled at the way she stared at him like he was clueless.

“Duh. He has to tell him how he feels,”

“But won't that ruin their friendship if Gabriel doesn't feel the same?”

“Of course not. Tell me, if Cas had those same feelings for you and he told you, would you stop being friends with him?”

“...no, but-,”

“And if it were vice versa, you really think Cas wouldn't want to be friends with you? After all you two have been through?”

“Again, no. But-,”

“Then why would Gabriel?”

“It would make things awkward for one thing and-,”

“Sure, maybe for a little while. But that's why being friends first is the best way to go. Cause the awkwardness goes away after awhile and you fall right back into the swing of things,”

“...I guess,”

“But since he does feel the same that gives way to the opportunity to be boyfriends. It'd be freaking great!”

Dean went silent and stared out the windshield. Charlie sensed that it was time to let the conversation drop. But she did notice the thoughtful look through the brooding crankiness. Although they didn't speak for the rest of the ride home, Charlie hoped and prayed that she had gotten through to Dean. He was always there to help her with her problems; he deserved to have his own taken care of. Now if only she could help Sam..

**October 5 th. 6:07 pm**

It took thirty long minutes to fix and clean up Sam's arm. By this point, Sam had quieted and was staring blankly at the floor. Gabriel wrapped a clean bandage around the injured arm, hoping to whoever was listening up above that he had done everything correctly. It had been years since he had had to stitch up an arm. Granted, back then it had been a bit more of a challenge...his hand subconsciously reached up to rub at his forearm.

“Sorry,”

Gabriel blinked then focused on Sam.

“What?”

“I'm sorry. For causing such a scene. You shouldn't have seen that,”

“Not like you could have controlled it, you know. You don't have to keep apologizing,”

Sam still seemed uncomfortable. Not that Gabriel blamed him; they were still sitting in the now dried puddle. He gingerly got to his feet and held out a hand to help Sam. His friend eyed it guiltily then accepted the offer. Their skin stuck together for a moment, as though they were forming some sort of disgusting pact. Both quickly retracted their hands and cringed at the feeling of separation.

“I'm...gonna go shower,”

“Right. Um. Me too. B-but not with you! Over at Castiel's place!”

“Yeah. I got it,”

“Don't get that arm wet. Put a bag on it,”

“I know. What, uh, what are you going to do?”

“Me? Clean up the tea, I guess,”

“Oh, you don't have to. I-,”

“It's fine,”

Sam shuffled awkwardly, clearly not for the idea of Gabriel cleaning up his mess. Gabriel wasn't entirely on board either, but he wasn't going to tell Sam that. They stared at one another for a moment, each wondering when the other was going to leave. Neither seemed to get the hint. The sickly sweet stench of the tea was slowly starting to infect the air around them. Desperate for a distraction, Gabriel cleared his throat and gestured to the broken mason jar.

“Rosehip and hibiscus,”

“Huh?”

“The crap in the jar. It was rosehip tea mixed with hibiscus tea. It's supposed to help you fight off infections and stuff. Cassy makes it all the time and he never gets sick. So, I thought it would make you feel better,”

Sam looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. A soft smile brightened through the doom and gloom of his dejected expression. He looked down at his shoes for a second then glanced back up shyly. Gabriel felt the back of his neck and ears heat with embarrassment. He tried not to pull away as Sam suddenly reached out a hand to touch his cheek. A look of concern shifted the smile into a tiny frown.

“What happened to your cheek?”

“Oh. I cut it on the counter,”

“It looks like it hurts,”

“Nah. I am a-okay. Don't worry about me. Besides, you're the one who carved another mouth into your arm,”

Sam chuckled sheepishly and smoothed his thumb under the small jagged line, careful not to touch it directly. Now that he was aware of it, Gabriel could feel the sting of the wound throbbing lightly. But the sensation of Sam's rough fingers caressing his cheek was more important. The exchange took a total of four seconds, but time seemed to stop between them.

“You should...you really should fix that,”

“Yeah. I'll patch it up as good as new later,”

“Good,”

Gabriel nodded awkwardly. Sam cleared his throat and took a step back. He made a vague gesture with his hand to indicate that he was finally going to go shower. Without thinking, Gabriel reached out and grabbed Sam's uninjured arm as he began to retreat. Sam paused mid-step, glancing at him in mild surprise. Gabriel gulped and slowly let go, his cheeks burning.

“I- sorry. It's just...I wanted to ask if you were going to be okay,”

Sam's mouth formed a small 'oh' shape and he tore his gaze away with a troubled look. Of course he was going to be fine. He had his medication and knew how to take care of himself after an attack. But there was something about the way Gabriel's voice had cracked on the word 'okay'. Sam hadn't realized how seeing him in such a state would affect his friend.

He guessed it was because he knew Dean and Castiel were already used to it. Gabriel had never seen him that way before. Yet he did what he could and ended up doing a pretty decent job at maintaining his composure. Sam looked down at the bandage around his arm. More than a decent job. Even though he didn't feel 100% at the moment- he had just gotten over it, after all- Sam actually felt calmer than usual.

Normally, his body would be wracked with shivers and everything was sensitized for at least an hour. Not to mention the strong sense of paranoia as well as absolute exhaustion. Okay, that last symptom remained, but the others were muted. It could have been the time spent with Gabriel patching up his arm. He had had the chance to collect himself.

Additionally, Gabriel hadn't left his side. While Dean was a welcome presence, it was oddly refreshing to have another friendly face that wasn't Castiel. Not that Cas wasn't appreciated. Just that this particular change sparked something inside of Sam that Castiel's friendship had not. Gabriel was opening his mouth to take back his earlier inquiry when Sam glanced back up at him.

“I'll be fine. You're here to keep me company, aren't you?”

“Of course. Sure. I mean, I'm not just going to leave you here after what happened,”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, listen, I was thinking about your note,”

“Note? Oh, that thing. Don't worry about it. We don't have to-,”

“No, I-I'd like to talk,”

Gabriel's eyes widened and blinked a few times. Sam wanted to talk. This was not happening right now. Not after Sam had just shown him the most vulnerable part of him. Wasn't there a rule against that? Sensitive topics needed to be held at a distance until the incident was forgotten. Wasn't that the rule? But Sam said in his own words that he wanted to talk.

Sam watched the panic and confusion flit across Gabriel's face. So, he wasn't alone in the indecisiveness. That was good to know. His stomach fluttered with that same odd feeling he had felt since he woke up. And now that Gabriel was actually here, standing right in front of him, Sam wanted to further explore it. Talking would serve as the safe yet effective route.

“Do you agree with that? We don't have to if you don't want to, you know,”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, yeah, talking is good. Great,”

Gabriel internally winced at his fumbling; come on, use words! But Sam didn't seem to mind. His lips twitched into a smirk as he nodded his agreement and approval. Then he turned and walked away without another word about it. Gabriel watched him go, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. It worked. That stupid Post-It note worked.

He couldn't stop the boyish grin from spreading across his face and fist pumped the air in excitement. Hell yeah! Communicating actually did work. Gabriel sighed in relief then set off to find the cleaning supplies. He really should have asked Sam where they were. Oh well. As he searched the cabinets, adrenaline pumped through his veins as the idea of talking with Sam fully hit him.

He paused, one hand hovering over the sink faucet and the other gripping firmly to a bucket he'd found. When he had first suggested they talked, he hadn't been planning on Sam actually agreeing. What would they talk about? It could be about anything. The original purpose was meant to be about the drunken night before. Could that be it? Or did Sam think there were other things that needed to be said?

There obviously had to be a reason for him to agree so smoothly. He clearly had thought about it longer than Gabriel had. And the way he'd looked at him with determination in his eyes; yeah, Sam definitely had something to say. Gabriel dipped the mop into the bucket, frowning as worry began to cloud his thoughts. Was this talk going to be the one that decided where their relationship stood?

If that were the case, this could go from good to great. Then again, it could also turn out to be something Gabriel had been secretly fearing since Castiel's phone call; Sam wouldn't want to give their friendship a chance and would cut ties with him again. This time maybe even forever. A pang cut like a blade through Gabriel's heart. Not again...

There was a shuffling kind of noise then the front door abruptly swung open. Charlie and Dean stumbled through, each wearing a tight expression of annoyance. At first, neither seemed to notice Gabriel, until the handle of the bucket dropped to the side with the pull of gravity. Dean raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Charlie, on the other hand, rushed over to him with a happy smile.

“Hey! I thought you'd left- whoa. What happened?”

“There was an accident. No big deal,”

“No big deal? It looks like the Kool-Aid man was murdered in here! And oh my god, you're covered in blood! Dean!”

Gabriel tried to dismiss the whole thing with a wave of his hand, but Dean had hurried over and was currently looking him over for wounds. Gabriel awkwardly leaned away from Dean's touches, unsure of how to react over the man fussing over him. Hadn't he punched Gabriel in the face earlier? He decided to care now all of a sudden? Dean looked up and caught the confused frown Gabriel hadn't realized he'd been sporting.

“Oh. Uh, sorry,” Dean said, stepping away with a sheepish expression. His eyes sharply focused on the cut on Gabriel's cheek. Charlie seemed to notice at the same time- seriously, was it that obvious?- and winced in concern. She shared a look with Dean, who was now glaring down at the mess in befuddlement. Self-consciously, Gabriel lifted his hand and covered the cut with his palm.

“It's not my blood. It's Sam's,”

“What?!”

This caught Dean's attention immediately. His eyes flashed with what Gabriel interpreted as guilt and anger. Charlie gaped at the blood splatter on Gabe's shirt, clearly wondering what the hell had happened. Dean tore his gaze away to Sam's bedroom door with the intention of storming in to be the hero. Gabriel, of course, prevented that with a shake of his head.

“He's fine. Calm down, both of you. He accidentally dropped the jar of tea I left him, slipped, fell, and cut open his arm with the glass. I stitched him up and he's in the shower right now getting cleaned up. So, chill with the dramatics,”

“You know how to do stitches?”

“It's not that hard, Red. Think of it as advanced sewing,”

Charlie nodded, but her attention seemed to be elsewhere. She was looking at something behind Gabriel with an unreadable look in her eyes. Glancing over his shoulder, Gabriel saw that it was the red thermos he'd seen earlier. If his memory proved reliable, that was the same thermos that Charlie had filled with soup.  _ Oh.  _

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Uh, sure. What it is?”

“Can you go check on Cassy for me? I talked to him earlier and I want to make sure he's doing alright,”

Gabriel slowly looked at Dean pointedly. He might as well have gut punched the poor guy. He glared halfheartedly back at Gabriel, his face pinched. Charlie glanced between them then mumbled a quiet, “sure,” and walked away. As the door shut behind her, the apartment fell into a tense silence. The only noise was the faint rumble of the shower. Dean cleared his throat and ducked his head. He gestured lamely behind him with his thumb.

“How...how is he?”

Gabriel raised an eye brow before answering with a false edge to his tone.

“What do you think?”

The guy actually flinched and his shoulders hunched in like a turtle. He genuinely felt terrible about what happened. Which, to Gabriel, didn't make any sense. When Castiel had fled the apartment, Gabe's initial instinct was to assume Dean had done something; he could be a jerk at times. But now that the situation had been explained, Dean's behavior didn't add up.

“Why don't you tell me your side of what happened?”

“What are you talking about? Why the hell would I tell you?”

“Well, unless you want me to keep thinking you're a total prick who has no business being around my brother, I advise you work up some type of defense for yourself. I can and will kick your ass,”

The threat was empty, of course. There wasn't any reason for Gabriel to beat Dean up, considering he hadn't done anything to deserve it. But Dean seemed to take the threat seriously and gulped. He nodded after a few minutes, pulling over a stool. As he hopped onto it, Gabriel began mopping the sticky mass of red staining the floor. Dean was silent at first, apparently thinking of the best way to begin.

“Any day now, Dean-o,”

“What all do you know?”

“That you two woke up together and Castiel decided to turn chicken,”

Dean scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. Gabriel noticed the faint blush beginning to redden his cheeks. Interesting. If the mixtape hadn't been a strong indicator of the man's feelings, then this surely fit the description. But Dean didn't notice the knowing smirk on Gabriel's face and sighed. The sound took Gabriel off-guard. That was far too forlorn for someone in love to make.

“I don't know why he freaked out so badly. I didn't do anything, I swear,”

“...what happened, dude?”

“Nothing. That's just it. We- we talked, like it wasn't a big deal. It was awkward and-,”

“Nice?”

Dean glanced up at him like a deer in headlights. Gabriel wrung out the mop without looking at him, letting the implication of his approval settle in. During the brief moment of quiet, Sam could be heard shutting off the water. Gabriel locked eyes with Dean, silently communicating that he'd better not run away. They had to finish this conversation whether he wanted to or not.

Dean clenched his jaw, his eyes shifting from scared to stormy. Gabriel ignored the Tough Guy act and glared right back. He remembered how upset Castiel had been and used that to add a spark of Big Brother protectiveness into his stare. This one detail was the extinguisher to Dean's sudden defensive flames. He slumped in place, breaking the stare-down. When he spoke, he sounded like he was a child again- soft and afraid.

“Yeah, okay. It was nice,”

“What about Castiel? Did he think it was nice?”

“It looked like he did,”

“But...?”

The defensive shield shot back into place immediately. Dean shoved away from the counter and slid from the stool. Although he refused to look at Gabriel, he did little to hide the nonplussed hurt twisting his features. He stumbled somewhat on the freshly mopped tile, his shoes making squeaking noises as he regained his footing. Gabriel blinked, startled, as a string of curses grumbled from Dean's mouth.

“Dean-,”

“I don't know what you wanted to hear, Gabriel! He clearly didn't feel the same way about it, so let it go. I'll stay away from him, if that's what you want,”

“That's not what I want,”

“Then what did you want? Huh? For me to admit that I'm an asshole? That I somehow managed to disgust your brother so much that he couldn't stand to be near me for another second?!”

There it was. The truth that Gabriel had been looking for. But before he could explain that wasn't what had went down at all, Dean turned tail and stormed down the hall into his bedroom. Sam walked out of the bathroom just as the door slammed. He jumped in surprise then his original content expression fell in dismay. Gabriel shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; that hadn't gone at all how he thought it would.

Was it some kind of Winchester gene to be melodramatic? Muffled music began to play from Dean's bedroom, angry and loud. Well, that answered his question. Sam frowned and cautiously approached Gabriel, shaking his wet hair out of his face. His eyes, hazel in the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen, were wide with concern and questions. But any explanation Gabriel could have given was interrupted by Charlie unceremoniously crashing through the front door.

“Charlie? What's wrong?”

“Sam! It's Cas! He's not moving and I can't get him to wake up!”

As though he had Superman quality hearing, the music was abruptly cut off and Dean came hurtling from his bedroom. Sam hurried to him to explain. Gabriel ignored them both and had already made it to Castiel's living room. God, his heart was beating so hard it hurt. _Please don't do this to me again!_ Charlie followed at his heels, frantically explaining how she had gone into his bedroom and found him on the floor.

“I thought he was dead! He wasn't moving and there's a dark stain near his side,”

Gabriel burst into the bedroom and his body froze. Castiel was just as Charlie had described: lying deathly still on the floor by his bed with a dried red stain under his ribs. He was also buckass naked. So when Dean could be heard at the front door, Gabriel turned to Charlie and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. She flinched in fright but gave him her full attention.

“Keep them away from here. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like this,”

Charlie nodded quickly and scurried from the room, slamming the door behind her. Gabriel could vaguely hear her trying to calm Sam and Dean down while relaying the message. Gabriel himself had to take a few breaths to compose himself. ' _Damn it, Castiel, this is the second time you've done this to me!'_ he thought. Kneeling, Gabriel turned Cas over onto his uninjured side, ignoring the cold and clammy feel of his skin.

He jerked back, face paling. Castiel looked like a corpse someone had dragged out of the ocean. His lips were pale blue and both eyes were darker than any bruise Gabriel had seen. A shallow gash ran from his third rib to the center of his abdomen. It seemed to have scabbed over slightly, which told volumes of its depth. Still, it was a nasty cut. Gabriel was just about to flip Castiel onto his back when a wheezing cough huffed out of his brother.

“Castiel?”

“Ugh. Must you talk so loud?”

“Yep, you're okay,”

Castiel shakily pushed himself up then allowed Gabriel to help him into a sitting position. He instantly gripped his head in his hands, groaning in pain. One of his hands almost instantly shot down to his side, covering the cut. He looked at it in pained bewilderment. Gabriel studied him, trying to to figure out what could have happened that could make him forget getting such a painful looking injury.

“Jesus, Cassy, I can't leave you alone for a second!”

“Technically, it was for more than a second...,”

“I don't care. Don't scare me like that, you ass. This is the second time you've been unconscious today,”

“Apologies. Next time, I'll send you a memo,”

Gabriel chuckled nervously at Castiel's dry tone. Well, sarcasm was better than nothing. At least that meant Cas wasn't entirely disoriented. He stood up, knees popping, and leaned down to help his brother. Their hands just fitted together when Cas noticed that his arms, as well as the rest of him, were bare. He looked down and squeaked in embarrassment.

“Gabriel! Why didn't you tell me I was naked?!”

“Gee, maybe it's cause I was trying not to notice,”

“You are of no help at all,”

“On the contrary, I'm about to be the best big brother you've ever had,”

Castiel glared up at him, puzzled. He allowed his older brother to assist him into sitting on his bed then slapped his hands away. Blushing, he covered himself with a pillow. Gabriel turned and hurriedly began to search the closet for clothes. He chose at random, tossing together what appeared to be an outfit, then gathered the pile into his arms and dumped it into Castiel's lap.

“Here. You're welcome. And while you're getting dressed, you can tell me how you ended up on the floor in your birthday suit,”

Cas picked up the shirt and wrinkled his nose in distaste. He pulled it on over his head anyway. “I listened to the song you suggested,” he began. Gabriel internally cringed; while it had sounded like a good idea at the time, maybe going with that particular song hadn't been appropriate. Then again, he hadn't had all of the details...

“Uh, about that-,”

“It helped a lot, actually. You were right. I can't force someone to feel something they don't,”

“That's just the thing though, he-,”

“I didn't think crying would help me. But it seems I needed it far more than I realized,”

“Will you listen? I- wait, you cried?”

Castiel nodded with a faraway look. Gabriel fought the urge to smack himself in the face. This was just perfect. If convincing him that Dean felt the same was difficult before, boy had he raised the bar. Damn it, Bonnie Raitt. Castiel either ignored Gabriel's exasperation or didn't notice. Instead, he finished buttoning his jeans and sat with his hands on his thighs.

“I fell asleep at some point and, when I woke up, I realized that I had overreacted. I was preparing myself to go apologize and...,”

“And?”

“I had had a dream. Well, a memory, really. It was of that night. I...I just wanted to take a shower, but it wouldn't go away,”

Dread hung heavy in Gabriel's gut like an anvil. He had forgotten about Castiel's flashbacks. Now it all made sense. Wordlessly, Gabriel went to his little brother, who had begun to cry, and knelt on one knee in front of him. For a moment, it was as though they had never aged. They were children again. As he gently unclenched his brother's hands, Gabriel's voice dipped into a softer tone.

“Cassy. Hey, look at me,”

“No,”

“Come on, Bumblebee, show me those pretty blues,”

Castiel's breath hitched in surprise; it had been years since Gabriel had used that nickname. He slowly lifted his eyes from the floor to his brother's gentle amber gaze. Gabriel held Castiel's hands in his, spreading his warmth through the still cold skin. Cas' lower lip trembled and his tears escalated from sluggish trails into streams.

“It's okay. Let it out,”

“B-but-,”

“I'm gonna tell you exactly what I told you last time you went though this,”

“Gabriel, no, you don't have to. I'm fine,”

“Liar. If you were fine, you wouldn't be crying right now and you wouldn't have had another panic attack,”

At the words, Castiel flinched and took his hands away. He used the heels of his palms to rub at his eyes. Gabriel settled on resting his arms on his knees, refusing to look away. Cas slowly lowered his hands and blinked down at him in sorrow. He inhaled shakily then sniffled. Gabriel reached up and tucked a loose curl of hair over Castiel's ear.

“This wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong,”

“How can you say that when you know what I did?”

“Castiel, we've been through this before. You've been traumatized. What happened was terrible but that doesn't mean you were at fault,”

“But I was. I ki- I killed him, Gabe. I did,”

“No, Cassy, you didn't do anything. You were the victim in all this,”

Castiel stared at him, uncomprehending what he was saying. Gabriel sighed; it had been fifteen years since their brother Raphael's murder. That night had haunted Gabriel for as long as he could remember, but it had always affected Castiel more. Well, of course it did. The poor kid had been tortured for no damn reason then covered in blood. That would make anyone fucked up.

“Listen to me. Remember what the therapist said?”

“But you said therapy was for quitters,”

“Okay, can you not have a memory of an elephant for a second? Answer me,”

“She said I was going to have hallucinations and that I need to remember that I'm not actually there anymore,”

“Right. What else?”

“That PTSD was a serious mental illness and that I needed to take all necessary means to not allow it to control my life,”

“Exactly. So, what does that mean?”

“That...this wasn't my fault?”

Gabriel nodded and patted Cas on the knee in what he hoped was a comforting manner. The only response he got was a wobbly smile that didn't reach Castiel's eyes and another sniffle. Gabriel got to his feet with a grunt. Cas looked up at him in panic, as though he didn't want his brother to leave right away. Gabe shook his head and reached over to gently ruffled Castiel's mop of dark hair.

“I'm not going anywhere, Cassy. I was just going to get the first aid kit from the bathroom so I can fix that cut of yours,”

“You...you aren't going to be in there for long, are you?”

A sharp pang shot through Gabriel's heart at the child-like tone of Cas' voice.

“Nah. I'll be quicker than the Flash,”

“Who?”

“...Dude, you wound me,”

He walked into the bathroom with Castiel's tired giggles in the background. As soon as he pushed the door open, he could see just how bad the attack had been. The shower curtain lay askew, half hanging from its rod. The bathtub was stained pink with dried blood. From what Gabriel could see, Cas had apparently cut his side on its edge.

The tiny square tile was still wet in some areas from where the freshly showered Castiel had landed on it. It was also covered in blood. In fact, there was a whole trail of drops all the way to the bed. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to imagine his little brother writhing on the floor in fear and agony.

He shook himself and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. While Castiel didn't have a full-on first aid kit like the Winchesters, he did have some old gauze and bandages. For a second, Gabriel frowned at the duo, wondering when Cas would have needed them. He thought back to the car ride there. Cas had mentioned that the scar from when he'd broken their mother's vase as a kid had been reopened after a fall down some stairs.

That must have been it. Gabe snatched them up and went back into the bedroom with Castiel. He was fiddling with the bottom of his t-shirt, his nose scrunched up as though the clothing offended him. Gabe's laugh caught his attention. He flushed in embarrassment once he realized he'd been caught. But Gabriel didn't say anything. He simply sat next to Cas and lifted his shirt out of the way, revealing the cut.

“Hey, why didn't you take care of that when you first got it?”

“Oh. I must not have noticed it,”

Of course he didn't. There were more pressing matters at hand. Gabriel swallowed down reminiscent fury at his older brothers; this never would have happened if they hadn't followed through with the exile. The anger flared deep in his gut, dark and swirling. No, it hadn't been just them. If their father hadn't had such stupid rules in the first place, there never would have been an “exile” to begin with!

“Gabriel? Are you alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I'm great. Take your arm out of the shirt and lay on your side,”

Cas did as he was told and faced the headboard. Gabriel set to work on cleaning the wound with some cotton pads he'd wet under the faucet. He then slathered on some disinfectant ointment to be safe. If it hurt, Castiel was excellent at masking his pain. Once the crusted over blood had been removed and the cut was revealed, it turned out to be smaller than Gabriel had originally thought. But it was still long and needed to be treated.

While Gabriel took care of Castiel in the bedroom, Dean paced from one end of the living room to the other. Sam and Charlie watched him from their spots on the couch. It was strange, being in Castiel's apartment. Charlie, for one, had never set foot in the place so it was all very new to her. She didn't like it very much- too clean. Sam and Dean, however, had helped Cas move in so they knew the apartment almost as well as their own.

That didn't make being there any less uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that the only reason why they were all there was because their best friend was hurt. Sam nibbled at his nails, agonizing over what could have happened. Charlie seemed just as worried, if her twisting her hair into tight coils was proof. But Dean...Dean was a wreck. For some reason, it appeared he blamed himself.

No amount of reassuring from Sam and Charlie could convince him otherwise. He kept reaching up to tug at his hair while his other hand gripped tight to his hip. A few minutes after Gabriel had banned them from the room, Dean's teeth had found his lower lip and had been gnawing at it for most of the visit. Sam checked his watch; they had only been there for thirty minutes.

“What is taking so long?”

“Dean, chill. They're probably just talking,”

“About what?”

“I dunno. But it's clearly something we don't need to know about,”

Dean grumbled something under his breath and continued pacing. Sam looked at Charlie for help only to find her silently crying. Taken aback, Sam shifted so he could face her and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped at the contact and looked over at him. He shook his head slightly, silently communicating his questioning concern. In response, she gestured wildly to the bedroom.

“I couldn't do anything to help him, Sam,”

At the sound of Charlie's broken tone, Dean halted in his tracks. He looked from Charlie then to Sam in worried confusion. Sam just shrugged while the girl suddenly leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder. Dean glanced from side to side, conflicted, for a moment then hurried to sit beside Charlie. He awkwardly reach out and began rubbing soothing circles on Charlie's back.

“It's not your fault, Charls. I-it's not anyone's fault. Right, Sammy?”

“R-right,”

They all sat there for what seemed like a whole hour. When the door finally opened, Charlie had stopped crying and groggily lifted her head from Sam's shoulder. Dean's head whipped around so fast, Sam was sure he'd pulled something. Gabriel came through, rubbing at his eyes with the pads of his fingers. Sam got up at the same time Dean did. He hung back as his brother walked hesitantly over to their friend.

“Before you say a word, he's fine. He just had a bad attack in the bathroom,”

“Attack? What?”

“I'll explain later. But you might want to prepare yourself. He wants to talk to you,”

Dean stiffened. Gabriel looked at him with a weary look then gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean glanced from his hand back to Gabriel again. “You really ought to hear what he has to say,” he said softly. When poor Dean couldn't formulate a response, Gabriel stepped to the side and firmly yet carefully guided him towards the bedroom. Dean visibly swallowed then walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

Gabriel stared after him then shook his head; that talk was seriously long overdue. He faced Sam and Charlie with a slight smile, trying to hide his exhaustion. Sam didn't know what came over him but, within seconds, he was striding over and had gathered Gabriel into a snug embrace. Gabriel made a small sound of surprise but returned the hug gratefully. Charlie wiped at her eyes and watched the exchange with a knowing look.

“What's this for, Samsie? I wasn't the one who got hurt, remember?”

“I know. I just...I was worried,”

“Well, Cassy is fine,”

“I wasn't talking about Cas. Of course, I was worried about him, but you're his older brother. Seeing him like that...,”

“Oh,”

Gabriel was silent for a moment, his fingers slightly gripping Sam's shirt. He smelled like soap and the apartment. The cotton of his shirt was soft against Gabriel's cheek and he could feel Sam's breath against his neck. Normally, Gabriel would have made a joke about their height differences- the top of his head just barely reached Sam's jaw-, but the feeling of Sam curling in just to be closer rendered him speechless.

Gabriel shifted a little, closing the small gap between them and found that he could hear the steady beat of Sam's heart if he dipped his head down. It was such a beautiful sound; Gabriel could spend an eternity standing just like this so he could hear it. While Gabe practically snuggled into him, Sam realized that this was the first time they'd ever hugged.

It was better than he imagined it would be. Gabriel was soft yet sturdy in his arms and actually made an effort to hug Sam back. Sure, he had to lean down a bit, but that somehow gave the embrace a more intimate feel. He wasn't sure if Gabriel could hear his nervousness but he had been worrying over whether or not to go through with it. He was so glad he'd ignored himself.

“Hey, Gabriel?”

“Yeah?”

“You never answered my question,”

“Oh. You asked me something?”

Sam laughed softly and pulled back out of the hug. Gabriel chased him without thinking, a distressed expression on his face. He realized what he was doing and let go sheepishly. But Sam didn't mind. Hugging Gabriel was definitely not a one-time experience. He looked down at his friend expectantly.

“I didn't ask you outright, but I wanted to know if you were alright. I mean, after taking care of Cas,”

“Oh. That. Well, I'm not gonna lie and say it was roses and daisies seeing him lying on the ground like that. But I've seen worse things. I'll be fine,”

Sam frowned at the tiny shift in Gabriel's voice. What sort of things had he seen? But Gabriel didn't notice. Either that or he didn't want to talk about it. Instead, he walked away from Sam and joined Charlie on the couch. He grinned charmingly and ruffled her hair in greeting. She whined a little at the sudden touch and grabbed at his hand with an exasperated smile of her own.

“How're you holding up, Little Red?”

“I'm good. I had a rough patch for a moment there, but Sam and Dean helped me out of it,”

“Yeah, they're good at that, aren't they?”

Gabriel looked over at Sam with a wink. Sam blushed and found himself smiling shyly. Where had that come from? And why was it so hard not to? Gabriel leaned in close to Charlie as Sam fought with his facial muscles. The redhead also leaned in, her hair spilling over her shoulder in the process. Gabriel smirked as though he had a secret only the two of them knew about.

“If only they could sort out their own crap, huh?”

“Tell me about it,”

Both of them began to laugh. Sam glanced over at the sound, wondering what could possibly be so funny. Unfortunately, he never got to find out for Dean chose that moment to come out of the bedroom. His face was ashen while his eyes had a panic-stricken glaze to them. Castiel followed suit, looking just as distressed. Sam looked between them, dumbfounded. What the hell did they talk about?

“What-?”

“We've gotta go, Sammy,”

“Go? Go where?”

“To Dad's. Right now. Let's go,”

“Now? But we were going in a few days! I thought-,”

“Yeah, I know what you thought, but plans have changed,”

Sam blinked, taken aback by his brother's snappish tone. Castiel thankfully noticed and put a calming hand on Dean's shoulder. To everyone's surprise, Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His tense stature slumped in defeat and there was pain with every breath he took. But when he opened his eyes again, Sam could see burning fury; Dean was absolutely livid.

“What happened, Dean? Why do we have to leave right this second?”

“Dad called. It turns out that the F.B.I. caught wind of Benny's death. And they did some investigating,”

“And?”

Dean clenched his jaw so tight that even Charlie could hear his teeth creak. Cas stepped forward then, sensing that Dean couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He acknowledge Dean's somewhat grateful hum as he gently moved to stand in his place. Dean leaned against the wall, his hand over his eyes. Castiel met Sam's gaze head-on with a sorrowful stare.

“It turns out Benny's death wasn't an accident like the press had stated to your father. The agents discovered that the decapitation had been far too clean for a car accident,”

“I don't...I don't understand,”

“Benny wasn't killed by running his truck off of the bridge. He was murdered,”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to write a story that no one will read, right? Please let me know if I should post the next chapter and of course your own personal thoughts regarding what I've written so far. I appreciate you reading and providing support! This is also my first fic on this site. Cut me a little slack? Pretty please?


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